The Story of a Life
by biochic
Summary: FINISHED! Finally! Thanks to eveyrone who watied so patiently! Sorry about indentations! Program confusion! RR please!
1. A Long Journey Home

Every person on the planet has a story. And just like people are different so are their stories. Sometimes people can live the same event and have completely different stories to tell. Most people's stories are simply single events. One occurrence that is somehow remembered as special and has ever since defined a part of that person. Humans do not seem to think of their lives as a whole very often. We tend to break things down into more manageable parts. We too often ignore the more miniscule parts and toss them aside as necessary, yet temporary events. One may well remember that evening on the lake with one's grandparent down to the smell of the water and the exact color of the sunset. Yet somehow, the trip to the lake and even complete weeks after is completely forgotten. If not forgotten, then at least pushed so far back that it is invisible to the conscious mind. It is hard for someone to remember things that are not necessary for day to day life. The human brain is not designed for such function. But there are those for whom memories are necessary for everyday living. Perhaps because the memories are all they have. Maybe they remember in order to tell others so as the stories are not lost. But details do fade and even change with time. One's youth is often too far-gone to completely recall the exact events. But sometimes a person is reminded so often of those events that they can remember exact details from decades earlier. And sometimes a person is reminded because single events create their life and their daily tasks are simply bridges between memories.  
  
But perhaps the saddest aspect of memories is that even though we can share them with as many people as we like, these people were not there. They can not possibly grasp the emotions that went into the events. Very rarely are we afforded the luxury of having any one person in our lives that has had the same experiences we have had at the exact moment we did. My mother was one of those people who lived life through stepping-stones. She relished every moment of every day, but there was always something in her presence that made her appear discontent. No matter how happy she looked, how crowded the room was, or how much she accomplished, her eyes looked sad, alone, and incomplete. When I was a young boy I did not notice this, she would not have allowed it. I had never even seen her cry until I was twenty-five, and that was by accident. She was a fortress when it came to emotions. She rarely lost her temper and never showed her sadness. But her patience was endless and her love as rare as the story of her life. Unfortunately I would not learn her story until shortly before she died. Sadder still, I would find that my own story was intertwined with hers more so than that of an average son. When I finally listened to the story of her life, I was unexpectedly being told the story of my own. I learned that sometimes the very foundations of our lives are lies, hard lies that hurt. But surprisingly I learned also that those lies may be hiding truths that in the beginning may hurt just as much but in the end bring fulfillment and completeness.  
  
I now tell the story as I was exposed to it. I tell it now in this way because it is still new in my mind and I can not possibly expect myself to remember a life that was not my own. I tell it so that others may know what I know now and what my mother wanted the world to know and yet could never share.  
  
  
  
Baltimore, Maryland – October 16, 2045  
  
Autumn. A beautiful time of year. The leaves on the trees practically glow. They appear to have captured the sun and in it's futile attempt to escape, allows the light to penetrate through every layer of tissue. At this point in the season, some leaves have given in and have turned brown and brittle, casualties of the sun's fury. And yet, there are still those who refuse to give up their own color. That resilient green bounces lively in the wind. Popping in and out from between the oranges and reds. It is these singular leaves to which my attention is drawn as I drive down the unmarked two-lane road toward my mother's house. It is at this moment that their singular drive to stay vibrant and alive means the most to me. I glanced over at my wife in the passenger's seat. Asleep, her head tilted down and her chin almost on her shoulder. Her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She always pulls her hair back when she is nervous or worried. It is her physical way of pushing all the unimportant things away, like hairstyles, and focusing on what's at hand. Watching her in this peaceful state I realized that what was happening may have been having more of an affect on her than on me. Yet she would never let me know. She has a way of ignoring all her own needs when she thinks someone else may need her attention. If she had never given me anything else in life, she had always given me her shoulder when I had needed it.  
  
I glanced back through the rear view mirror at my daughter. She too was asleep. Her tiny head of auburn curls pressed against the side of the car seat. Only two years old and already making her way through this world. I have never known a child that was so caring and giving. She has a way of knowing when someone is hurting and goes to them instinctually. I can never forget seeing the sadness in her eyes when she toddled up to me in the yard with a dying sparrow clutched to her chest. I never thought a child so young could understand another's pain and want to help the way she did. I can also never forget the pain in those same blue eyes when that sparrow died and I had to take it away. She didn't know how to make it better and her heart ached knowing she could do nothing.  
  
And now here I was, with two of the most gentle creatures ever placed on this earth, heading towards yet another. I had been blessed to live a life with these courageous women, and now one was about to be taken from me. I had gotten the call three days ago at our home in Chicago from my mother's home nurse letting me know that the time was near. The cancer was winning, and my mother needed me. It was a call I never thought I would get. No matter how bad the disease had gotten, the eternal child in me thought that the invincible soul that was my mother would never give in, would never leave me. But for all her fighting, the cancer was beating her. At this moment, driving in silence, it hadn't occurred to me that this was her last fight. Her last, but by no means her hardest. As I would soon learn, the battle with cancer was child's play compared to the battles of her life.  
  
  
  
Clarissa, my mother's homely, middle-aged home nurse was waiting at the door when we pulled up the gravel drive towards my mother's house. Every time I came home, it was like I was transported back in time. I could see my mother working in the front flower bed and my grandmother sitting in the old rocking chair on the front porch as I purposefully made my way down the drive away from the yellow school bus that carried me from school each afternoon. Driving under the tall oaks that bent their branches lovingly over the gravel path still calms me. The arches of their branches beckoning me in further, the echoes of their rustling leaves calling me home, telling me I am safe, and reassuring me that someone that loves me awaits just a few yards ahead.  
  
"I'm glad you made it safe, she's been worried," Clarissa called from the porch. Even though she lived with my mother now, she wore her white uniform shirt and skirt everyday. Her brown, ever-so-slightly-gray hair was always pulled neatly back into a bun and her large framed glasses were perched stately on her nose.  
  
"Sorry. We had a lot of stuff to do before we left. I would have called but everything was so hurried," I answered through the car window. I turned to Karen beside me and eased her from her sleep. As she began to sit up and unbuckle her seatbelt I got out of the car and went to the trunk to start unloading our luggage.  
  
"Now Michael, you let me get those," Clarissa fussed, making her way toward the car. "You go see your mama and I'll tend to Karen and the baby."  
  
"Clarissa, you tend to everything anymore. Let me at least take the luggage upstairs. It won't take that long to get to Mom."  
  
"Now you know your mother. She's got a sixth sense when it comes to you. Her room may be upstairs and on the other side of the house, but she knows you're here and she won't rest until she sees that you're safe and healthy. So just get yourself up there straight away before she tries to get her fool self down here."  
  
I raised my hands in mock defeat, turned to Karen and winked, just to see her smile, and then turned toward the house and to my mother. The truth be told I wanted to take the luggage in because I thought it would give me just a few more minutes to prepare myself. Maybe I thought that if I waited long enough I would finally wake up from this nightmare. But I knew for certain that the longer I waited, the less time I would have to spend with her, and that hurt even more.  
  
Stepping into the foyer, for the first time in my life I felt like a stranger in my own home. The shiny hardwood floors felt foreign beneath my feet. Looking into the study on my right I could see my mother, years earlier, typing furiously at her computer, rushing to make the deadline for her research paper. To the left I could see my grandmother, sitting in the family room in front of a roaring fire, watching the television. Memories that were so vivid, but so fleeting. In their place came the present, and it was an odd sensation. Nothing like the warmth I had felt just moments earlier coming down the drive. This was the sense of reality. The cold loneliness of not knowing what lay ahead but still pushing onward. And so I did push on. Up the stairs that stretched before me and towards my mother's room.  
  
I had always loved her bedroom. It was in the back corner of the house and untrue to its farmhouse tradition, had large plate windows down both outside walls. The room itself was L-shaped the bed positioned at the inside corner of the "L", facing the windows. The windows themselves looked out on the pond behind the house and the lines of trees that corralled it. The most spectacular sunsets could be seen from my mother's bedroom and for that matter the best sunrises as well, such was the situation of the house. I stepped quietly into the room, my weight causing the mahogany floorboards beneath me to creak.  
  
"Michael, don't be shy. What have I told you? You always enter a room like you were meant to be there, no matter if you should or not."  
  
My mother's voice called to me like a whip. She had a way of always knowing what I was up to. She could scold with her voice better than she could have done with her fist. Even now, at this point in her life, though weak, her voice was determined and firm.  
  
"Sorry, Kit. Thought that maybe you were asleep. I didn't mean to startle you."  
  
"You didn't startle me. I haven't been surprised by anything in years," she claimed matter-of-factly.  
  
"How are you feeling?" I asked cautiously, and found out quickly, with reason.  
  
"How the hell do you think I feel? I'm dying. I feel like…"  
  
"Kit! I get it. You feel bad," I interrupted.  
  
"Oh, kids. You always did hate it when I cursed. I always felt like I was the child when you would scold me," she giggled softly, remembering.  
  
"Yeah, well, you got scolded a lot." I still had not completely turned towards her. I chose to stare out the windows at the water, contemplating the loons as they gently floated across.  
  
"Come here Michael. I know you don't want to see me like this, but I need to see you."  
  
I dropped my head, pained by the thought that any time she looked at me could be her last. I walked to the edge of the bed, my head still down, now focusing on the white down comforter that draped across her legs. Suddenly I remembered that she always had a white down comforter on her bed. She would buy new ones through the years, the decorative stitching may have varied, but they would always be white linen stuffed with down.  
  
"You look horrible. You're losing weight again, aren't you? I swear you worry too much. You have too much of your grandmother in you, that's what it is. That woman worried over everything. God bless her, she would be a wreck right now if she were here."  
  
"Yeah, well, neither one of us could stand it when you got sick, even if it was a cold. You hardly ever got sick and when you would it felt like…well, it felt wrong," I said, still counting the threads in the comforter.  
  
"Well, she was my Mom and you are my son. Your mother and your children are always the first and sometimes the only people who really worry when you are ill. You'll learn that with Alexa. When Karen is busy taking care of you, it will be Alexa walking the floor. That is if she doesn't already."  
  
"She's only two. She doesn't really understand. But yeah, she's a worrier already. She can't stand to see anyone in pain. She just doesn't understand how or why. But she notices things."  
  
"Well, it's genetic apparently. Where are they anyway, Karen and Alexa?"  
  
"I left them to Clarissa to unload the car and get settled. They should be in any minute."  
  
"What a shame I won't see her grow up," she said, suddenly lamenting. "I would have loved to see her off to the Prom and be there when you give her away to some handsome young man who has swept her off her feet."  
  
"Oh don't worry. You won't miss that because I'm not giving her away. I don't care how far she's been swept. She's mine and that's that," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
"You only think she's yours. Someday her prince will find her. And no matter what you do to keep them apart, they will be together somehow…"she trailed off. I looked up to see her staring off at something beyond the landscape, her brow knitted with distraction. I suddenly felt that she was not speaking to me, but more like through me, to someone else in some distant place.  
  
"Hey you two," Karen piped as she entered the room. "How's my favorite mother-in-law?"  
  
Mom came back from her thoughts, a smile beaming across her face, her porcelain skin bending to its call, but even at sixty-eight years old, hardly wrinkling. Karen slipped in next to me, bent over and brushed her lips against my mother's cheek and then smoothed back her auburn hair with a gentle hand. My mother's crystal blue eyes shimmered at this excited attention.  
  
"I can't believe how good you look Mother Kit. Not one gray hair. It's unnatural. Tell me the truth, Clarissa colors your hair for you doesn't she? Go on, you can tell me," Karen teased, gently nudging Mom with the back of her arm as she nestled in beside her on the bed.  
  
"Oh, Karen, stop it," my mother waved her hand slightly, physically brushing off Karen's teasing. "Where's that baby? I haven't seen her in months."  
  
"She's asleep in the other room. It was a long trip for a little thing like her. Too much excitement. I'm sure she'll wake up in a little while. In the mean time I think I'm going to go down and get some tea. How about you two?"  
  
"I'm fine dear. You go on ahead," my mother smiled weakly, the excitement of the visit already draining her.  
  
"Me, too. I'll just sit with Kit for a while," I said, trying to force a grin on Karen's behalf.  
  
It was hard to think that after losing her own mother at just a young age, only six years old, that now Karen would be losing the only other woman she had ever been close to.  
  
"Okay, I'll be back in a minute," Karen said as she left the room.  
  
"I don't think you could have found a kinder woman on the planet than her," my mother said softly as Karen's footsteps disappeared down the hall.  
  
"She's one in a million. I still feel insecure about our age difference sometimes though. Sometimes I look at her and all I think is 'What in the world is a woman of twenty-eight doing with a forty-one year old husband.' Then I start worrying about being this old and having a two- year old daughter. God, when she's eighteen, I'll be fifty-nine. That scares the hell out of me."  
  
"Well, sometimes it's not how long we are with someone, or even who exactly that someone is, that matters. What counts is that we have, is even for a short time, a person that we can call our own. Someone so close to us that they are part of our souls. That's what counts," my mother spoke as if setting down prophecy. But then again, she always had.  
  
She had a mysterious aura surrounding her. She could hand out advice to anyone with the spirit that she had lived through the same things as they had and more, yet I couldn't remember anything out of the ordinary in her life. All I could remember was a work-at-home mother that sent me off to school each morning and was waiting on the porch for me in the afternoon. She occasionally left for a few weeks on research trips, conventions, or educational talks, but mostly she studied from books and made her observations on the wildlife living on our property, all 325 acres of it. I don't know how she did it, but in between caring for my grandmother and myself my mother had become one of the top researchers in the field of wildlife biology. In less than twenty years she had inventoried and categorized every living creature in the woods and field surrounding out home. She had found innovative ways of tagging and marking some of the most elusive animals and through her papers and speeches had began a kind of revolution in the art of animal tracking and population census. She was, in her own way, a pioneer of science.  
  
Yet, for all her scientific knowledge and love of wildlife, I had still managed to slip through the cracks to become a journalist. I love nature, always have, and how could I not, but writing was a passion. After college I landed a job at a small local paper, working the small town circuit here in Maryland. I worked there for ten years, scraping out a living until one day a guy from the New York Times walked in and offered me a job, saying he had read my work, and felt good about taking a chance on me. I jumped at the chance, packed my bags, and left Maryland, and my mother, behind. Five years later I left the hectic life of New York, bored with my job, which had become little more than mailroom/secretary position with very little writing, and the sterile confines of the city. I took a job with a man who was looking for someone to follow him around the Amazon Basin, writing his memoirs. This man as it turned out, was a fifty-five year old divorcee, looking for adventure, but ended up only finding repeated cases of food poisoning and thousands upon thousand of mosquito bites. Somehow though, I managed to turn his two-year stumble through the bush into something he was actually proud to have lived through. It wasn't quite fiction, I mean it was about him, he really did spend two years in the Amazon, and yes he really did come face to face with a good number of dangerous, even venomous, creatures, but the rest was mostly prose.  
  
I made my way back to the States after our excursion and for some reason made Chicago home. I rented a less than roomy apartment that dripped when it rained and housed numerous small mammals when it snowed, but it was cheap. I had never imagined that at thirty-eight I would be so close to poverty and without a decent job. I called my mother everyday, but never let her know what was really going on, though at times I thought she did. She always had a way of calling and asking me if I needed money or telling me she was wiring some anyway, just when I needed it most. I had been back in the States for six months when some buddies took me out to a club for my birthday. It was a small establishment; I probably never would have gone in by myself, since I rarely drank and was actually a little intimidated by the nightlife of the city. We had sat around for an hour or so talking and laughing when I saw her walk in. She was strikingly beautiful. I could tell that she was much younger than I was, she entered between two other young women, and the trio giggled and nudged each other all the way to the bar. My every instinct told me to go up to her and introduce myself. But the rational part of my brain butted in, warning me that it had been at least four years since my last date and not many twenty- something's would go for a man with no money, no real job, who was pushing twice her age.  
  
But just as the thought entered my mind, the strangest thing happened – she looked up from the bar and looked me straight in the eye. She didn't blink, didn't blush, and didn't falter. I felt all of a sudden that she had walked in this very night looking for me. Not looking for a date, or a one-night stand, but me. My heart almost stopped. After a few beats, I got up from the table, not one word to my mates, and walked straight up to her and asked her to dance. She accepted and that's how it started. After that night we hardly left each other's side. She moved in with me three weeks later, together we could afford a larger, drier apartment, and within four months, we were married. Unfortunately for my mother, we were married at the courthouse, no big ceremony, just Karen's parents and my mother and Clarissa there to witness and give us their blessing.  
  
Meeting and marrying Karen was the closest thing to a miracle I have ever experienced. After I met her, I got an offer by a publisher friend-of- a-friend who had read the memoirs of a certain aged lunatic, for whatever reason, and decided that maybe I should try my hand at writing novels. I took him up on the idea, and three months later handed in my first transcript. And as inexplicably as why he read the memoirs, he decided to publish it. It wasn't a huge success, but it offered me the opportunity to write and publish another, which led to another, and yet another. At some point, I was labeled one of the best new writers of the decade, at made it on the New York Times best-seller list. It was actually the first time my name was seriously printed in a paper for which I wrote for ten years. Karen and I celebrated my big hit along with the birth of our new daughter, Alexa. Turning thirty-nine it seemed wasn't going to be such a bad thing after all.  
  
It wasn't until Alexa's first birthday party that I found out that something was wrong with my mother. Apparently something had been wrong for a long time. She had been diagnosed with lymphoma three weeks prior to the party and was scheduled to begin treatment the following day after flying back to Baltimore. I remember begging her to stay in Chicago for treatment, but she insisted that with her new home health nurse she would be fine and did not want to be a burden. That night she took Alexa to sleep next to her, holding her close the entire night. The next morning she laid Alexa in her crib, called a cab and left for the airport without waking a soul. Either Karen or myself would travel to Baltimore at least once a month, sometimes with Alexa, to check up on her with our own eyes as she would deniably lie on the phone and I could tell that her nurse, Clarissa, was under strict orders not to reveal anything.  
  
Here we were now, a year later, watching the strongest soul I had ever met, slowly fade away despite her smiles and struggling cheery demeanor. I looked at her now, staring off into the new night sky, her skin so pale, her once strong, athletic muscle depleted, looking half her normal size. Yet there was something inside of her that glowed. Strength uncommonly known that had the will to resist such a trespass as cancer. I had not suspected that this disease would overcome her as quickly as within a year.  
  
I was started from my thoughts when I heard Karen coming down the hall, the sound of china clinking on a tray proceeding her footsteps. I knew instantly that she had disregarded our earlier testaments and was bringing us tea. Green tea to be exact. The same thing my mother had always drank when we were nervous or worried. It had become over the years, my only way of knowing when something was wrong with her, as she would never have told me outright.  
  
"Okay you two," Karen announced brightly as she entered, " despite your earlier comments, I have brought you both tea." She placed the wooden tray on a large oak table in front of one of the windows and began pouring the hot liquid into the fragile china cups that had belonged to my grandmother.  
  
"Well Kit, what do you say? Tea after all?" I asked raising a cup in her direction and watching her wave it away, her eyes slowly closing.  
  
"Kit. That's so odd," Karen mused," You have to be the only man I know that calls his mother that.'  
  
"I've always called her that," I said, suddenly realizing, after all these years, that it did sound strange. "I don't think I even know why I started calling her that."  
  
"Because he did," I heard my mother say weakly.  
  
"Who did?" I asked softly, noticing she was drifting off to sleep.  
  
"He called me Kate when everyone else called me Katherine. But you were too young. The best you could do was 'Kit.' You were so much like him. Two of a kind. I wish you had known sooner."  
  
"Known what?" I asked. But it was too late. She was asleep. My inquiries would have to wait until morning. 


	2. The Story

I noticed the sunrise for the first time in ages the next morning. It always seemed to me that the city was always bright but the sun never showed. Here, surrounded by nature, seemed to be the only place you could see the sun itself. I imagined it hid itself from the city, too ashamed of those walking around beneath it, too busy with their daily lives to appreciate the world around them. But I remembered that I had always noticed it here in my mother's home. As a child I would wake up every morning before everyone else to watch the sun come up. I would sit in the small bay window in my bedroom, holding tight to a stuffed gorilla my Uncle Frank had bought me when I was just a baby, and hold my breath in excitement, waiting for nothing more than a sunrise. It was an odd thing to do, I thought now, all grown up; staring out the same window that seemed infinitely smaller than it had. But the sun was still something that amazed me. I had a hunger for its warmth. I had never noticed how cold I felt on the inside until that morning.  
  
"Good morning," I heard Karen say meekly as she rolled over in bed.  
  
"You, too. Did you sleep well?" I asked. She nodded, slowly stretching the length of the bed.  
  
"Alexa must have slept well, too," she remarked looking at the clock. "She never sleeps this late." It was nine o'clock. We were all usually awake by now, fumbling through our morning routine. Karen was usually getting ready to leave for the lab and I was usually getting Alexa ready for the babysitter. I would dress and, after they left, head to my office in our loft, and try to crank out a few more pages of whatever book I was working on.  
  
"Why don't you go take a shower and I'll go get Alexa," I said, already making my way toward the door.  
  
Alexa was in the nursery next to my mother's room. It had once been a store room/exercise equipment room, but Mom had had it decorated and furnished with my old baby things when she found out Karen was pregnant. I made my way around the staircase, tracing my hand along the dark oak railing, glancing down into the foyer and catching a glimpse of Clarissa as she opened the blinds in the study. I crept past my mother's room towards Alexa's, knowing my mother would be awake and not yet ready to talk to her, especially after last night's conversation. It had left me with more questions and conjectures than I would have liked. Something about her tone seemed so ominous to me and I couldn't shake the feeling that she had something very important to say. And something else told me that whatever it was, I was not going to like hearing it.  
  
Alexa was standing up in the crib, staring out at the sunrise when I walked in. I smiled as I watched her total amusement at seeing essentially nothing. I remembered my Grandmother catching me one morning staring out at the sunrise and saying that I had my mother's infinite patience. An innate ability to wait on or out anything. I remember her saying, more to herself than to me, that it was this patience that would make my mother happy. I did not understand what my grandmother was saying then, and as I watched Alexa stare out at the light, I realized that I did not still.  
  
After I had dressed and diapered Alexa, I carried her downstairs to the kitchen. Karen and Clarissa were preparing breakfast, talking and laughing like little kids. I sat Alexa in the highchair, which used to be my own, and pushed her up to the small table by the bay window. I thought of all the meals I had eaten at this table. It was really a breakfast nook, but my mother had always preferred to eat by the window, staring out at the lake, rather than eating in the silence and confined space of the dining room.  
  
"Clarissa," I began as I turned towards she and my wife by the large oak island in the middle of the kitchen, "has Kit ever told you how she got this place?" The question seemed to surprise Clarissa. She blanched almost as she stopped chopping the vegetables for the omelet she was preparing.  
  
"What do you mean? I had always assumed she bought it or it was left to her by her parents or something. Why do you ask?"  
  
"It's just that, last month I was going through some old boxes I had taken back to Chicago with me and found the titles to the house and property. I never knew how the family acquired the property so I called the title office here to see who any previous owners had been. The lady I talked to said that there weren't anymore references to the titles, my mother's was the only one that had ever been given. That just doesn't make sense. I know she said she and Grandmother didn't move here until a few months before I was born. There had to be previous owners."  
  
"Oh, you know how these things are," Clarissa scoffed, "They probably lost the paperwork through the years and when they switched over to computer files…well you know, if it's not in the computer…"  
  
"That's exactly what I told him," Karen nodded in agreement. "Sometimes you can such a conspiracy theorist Michael. As long as there's a legal title with your mother's name on it, who cares who owned it before?"  
  
"I don't care. I was just curious. It seems odd to me, like something's not right."  
  
"Well, why don't you ask your mother? I'm sure Kit knows who she bought it from," Karen said, walking to the table with a bowl of oatmeal for Alexa.  
  
I watched her for a moment as she and Alexa smiled and cooed at one another and then went upstairs to see my mother. She was sitting up against the pillows, slowly sipping a cup of tea, her hand slightly trembling at its weight.  
  
"You know it's funny," she began, "I never thought I'd live this long." I stared at her, wondering silently why someone who had always been so full of life and lived in such a safe place, would ever think they would not live to see sixty-seven.  
  
"So many things have happened. I just never thought I'd make it this far. Of all the things that have tried to kill me, I never imagined it would be cancer that would strike the death blow," she smirked and shook her head slightly in wonder.  
  
"Kit, how could you think that. You've been the healthiest person I have ever known. I can't remember any time where you were in the hospital, or even had more than the flu. What things have tried to kill you?"  
  
"Don't call me that," she snapped, her eyes darkening.  
  
"What? Kit? I've always called you that."  
  
"I know. But just for today, call me 'Mom'," she said to the window, her eyes softening as she turned to look at me slowly.  
  
"Okay. But why? Why now?" I asked as I brought a chair over from the corner to sit next to her.  
  
"Because I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you long ago but never had the courage to. It's something that will change your life and most likely your view of me. So, call me 'Mom' because today I need you to remember who I am, so maybe you'll understand why I've done what I have."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"You call me 'Kit' because you couldn't say 'Kate'. Do you remember who called me 'Kate'?" she asked, sounding like a child that was about to admit to breaking a piece of china.  
  
"Yes," I answered cautiously. "Uncle Frank always called you that. I don't remember anyone else ever calling you 'Kate', just him. Why?"  
  
"Yes, Uncle Frank," she smiled, shaking her head again. "Did you ever feel bad because you didn't know your father? Did you ever wish he'd been there? Or hate me because I picked him from a set of test tubes?"  
  
"Hate you? No. I never hated you. When you first explained it to me I was hurt and confused, but I learned to accept it. I understood that you had wanted a child so badly, that you accepted the responsibility on your own. Besides, Uncle Frank was always there when he could be. He was practically my father."  
  
"He was your father, Michael. Frank Donovan was your father. You didn't come from a test tube. You came from us. Maybe he didn't live with us, or eat dinner with us every night, but he was there at every play, every Little League game, and most every holiday because he was your father and he wanted to spend time with you."  
  
I listened as the words came from her mouth, but I did not really comprehend the magnitude of her words at first.  
  
"What do you mean? He couldn't have been my father! Why wouldn't you have told me something like that? Why wouldn't have he?"  
  
"It's complicated," she stated bluntly, staring at me intently, trying to gauge my emotions.  
  
"Well, make it uncomplicated," I demanded, raising my voice more than I had planned.  
  
"Michael, it's a long story. We were in love. Even people like us can be in love," she said with a deep sigh, already tiring from the stress of the conversation.  
  
"What do you mean? People like what?"  
  
"Frank was an undercover agent for the Justice Department when I met him. Before that he had been CIA, a hostage negotiator, and God only knows what else. I was, I am, a protected witness of the State."  
  
"Protected witness? CIA? Mom, what are you talking about? Frank was a cop, a detective. He worked homicide in Chicago and then D.C."  
  
"How do you know?" she asked.  
  
"What do you mean? I know because he told me. He didn't talk much about it, but I saw his badge when I was little, I visited him when he moved to D.C."  
  
"You know what he wanted to you to know, what I wanted you to know, and nothing more. The badge you saw when you were young was a fake badge. He moved to D.C. because he moved the team from Chicago so their headquarters would be closer to us, closer to those he needed to protect."  
  
"Protect from what? Nothing ever happened in this house or to anyone who ever lived in it."  
  
"Nothing happened in this house because the government made sure it didn't. Frank made sure it didn't. Every day of your life, there have been agents watching over you. Our 'neighbors' on the farms around us are government agents, as good as the Secret Service, being paid very well to see to it that no one in this family is ever found out. The government owns this land that you've been so curious about lately. It was put into a kind of trust for our family as what you might call a 'reimbursement'. And don't look at me like that. My attorney is the one who found out you had been searching titles when he was preparing my estate papers. We've been put into the same type of protective custody as a former President might be. We live our lives safe, guarded, and completely monitored at the expense of the American people and our privacy," she began to cough violently, barely completing her speech, and as I looked into her eyes when the pain subsided, I knew everything she was saying was true. And every word she had just said made me sick.  
  
I felt as if I had just awoken from a dream. Suddenly the walls seemed alive and felt as though they were closing in on me. I rose from my seat and paced about the room for a few moments.  
  
"I have to take a walk," I said, looking at the floor, not sure where I wanted to walk to, and now wondering who would be watching me.  
  
"Michael," she began softly, reaching her frail hand out, pointing towards her writing desk, "there's a letter in the desk. It's for you. I wrote it months ago, knowing that I was going to die. I thought I would have Clarissa give it to you when I passed. I didn't have the courage at the time to tell you myself, but I realized that I had to do it, and face whatever came of it. And if you must know, Clarissa knows everything."  
  
"Why?" I huffed, plodding towards the desk and opening the drawer, "Is she one of them, too?"  
  
"Yes," she answered bluntly.  
  
I stopped in my tracks at her confirmation, letter in hand, and tears beginning to form in my eyes. I looked at the letter in my hand, then to my mother, and then out the bedroom door, as if psychically staring down the stairs and to the back of the house, directly at the nurse I knew to be standing in the kitchen. I felt a thousand emotions but could not isolate any of them. But something inside me stirred and I knew I was feeling something I had never felt before.  
  
"Betrayed," I heard my mother say as I made my way across the room and out into the hallway.  
  
  
  
I stormed down the stairs and out the front door. I turned towards the lake and the path I knew encircled it. I walked as fast as I could without breaking into a run, until I reached the opposite side of the lake, facing the house on the opposite shore. I sat down on the remnants of an old boat dock, my elbows on my knees as I ran my hands back over my face and through my hair. I wanted to cry, scream; anything to release the confusion and madness that welled up inside me, but nothing came. I was too upset, too beyond words or actions. I still couldn't accept or even contemplate the meaning and impact of my mother's admission. I sat for a while, and then pulled the crushed envelope from my pocket that I had moments ago so forcibly inserted as I stepped off the front porch. I examined it in my hands, turning it over and over again. It was thicker than I had realized. As I opened it I saw it was my mother's favored parchment paper, folded into thirds, about a dozen pages or more. It was hand-written in lavender, the same way I had seen my mother write to friends and loved one's over the years. For all the computers and technology in the world, and despite her love for all of it, she still insisted that the most civilized way to reach out to someone was to do so with one's own hand. She used to say that type written letters were cold and lacked the soul of the writer. When you receive a hand-written letter, you have received a little bit of the person who sent it too you. The very thought of her old-fashioned charms made me smile in spite of all the chaos around me.  
  
I unfolded the letter and began to read the words formed by the elegant strokes of my mother's hand:  
  
My dearest Michael,  
  
Of all the things I never told you, of all the things you could be angry with me about, there is one thing that I should have told you about long ago. When I was 24 I worked at a college in Illinois, outside Chicago. It was a small school, only a few hundred students were admitted yearly, and the science division where I worked, only had a little over one hundred students enrolled. I was an instructor for a few of the Pre-Med. labs. I had only been out of college a couple years myself so it seemed like the best job I could have at the time. I still remembered the material and was still young enough to relate to the students. My mother moved there with me. Being her only child and father being gone for so many years, we had a very strong bond and could not stand to think of not being with each other. Besides, what would be the point of both of us living alone?  
  
Anyway, I quickly made friends with an another instructor, a girl about my age, named Vanessa Parkins. She was about the nicest person I had ever met. Always laughing about something, never complained about the slightest imposition, and had just about every young up-and- comer drooling over her. She ignored every advance in her  
  
direction, even a few indecent proposals from tenured faculty. Her heart belonged to her  
  
long-time boyfriend, Peter Shaw. They had been dating since their sophomore year  
  
when they had both signed up for a year abroad at Adelaide University in Australia.  
  
Vanessa had been waiting for a marriage proposal for a year when I met her. Peter  
  
however was too worried about money and embarrassed he couldn't offer her a mansion  
  
instead of a one bedroom apartment so he held off, working two jobs, one at the college  
  
tutoring political science, the other at a campus pizzeria. The last real conversation I  
  
remember having with her was about how his long, strange hours were wearing at their  
  
relationship. It's ironic now to think that our last conversation was about time and how  
  
little of it there was. We did not know then, just how little.  
  
The morning of October 25, 2002 began just like every other morning. The autumn sky was gray and overcast, threatening to begin to snow. The trees had almost lost all their leaves and the air was chilly enough to warrant a winter coat. I left the house at six-thirty that morning, quietly locking the door behind me so as not to awaken my mother who had been quite ill for the past month. I started my car, an old Monte Carlo, with some trepidation, and waited for it to warm up. By seven o'clock I arrived in the parking lot across from the Science Hall and began to make my way into the building. I crossed the street, my hand clenched at the collar of my fawn-colored leather coat, ready to start the day, unaware of what was to come.  
  
Writing this now, I see myself walking into that building, as in a movie. I remember speaking to a few of my students, placing my coat and briefcase in my  
  
cinderblock-walled office with no window, and making my way towards the labs on the  
  
other side of the building. I can almost see the expression on my own face. I must have  
  
felt so safe and confident, so certain that today would not be unlike any other. I  
  
remember waving to Vanessa as she entered her own lab room down the hall, preparing  
  
to face her own student's lack of enthusiasm for having to be in the cold, sterile labs so  
  
early in the morning. I slipped on my lab coat over the black turtleneck and blue jeans,  
  
tugging the collar to straighten it, trying to give it a respectable air despite the frayed hem  
  
and random iodine stains. I pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail, wisps of hair had  
  
already slipped out by the time I had made my way to the front of the room, and began the day's lecture.  
  
The rest of the morning went without incident. Classes began and ended, the campus chapel bells signaling each hour, and I returned to my office around one o'clock that afternoon for my usual late lunch. I would have normally eaten lunch with Vanessa at a small diner near the school, but today she would be tutoring a student in one of the labs and I was left to fend for myself. Unfortunately this meant fending myself against the vending machine, a fight that usually ended with me buying a large bottle of Pepsi and a candy bar. As I returned to my office, in my hands was proof positive that once again, the machine had won. I sat down at my desk, an ancient wooden thing with flaking varnish and drawers that stuck fast. I had tried to lighten the mood of my "cell," as I liked to refer to it, with a vase of flowers and a few pictures one of the Professors' daughters had drawn when I watched her for a few hours one day. But the cold of the room had wilted the flowers and the dampness that always pervaded the entire building had caused the thin pieces of copier paper to curl at the corners. I rubbed my hands together, trying to warm them, and began to grade the few research papers I had left in my pile. I remember that they were all turned in late, which meant that their writers could not receive a higher grade than a "B." I remember hoping they had used that extra time to write some damn good papers, but knew from my own college days that late papers were usually those written at the last minute and would never be able to do their writers any intellectual justice.  
  
My next class would not have been until three o'clock that afternoon, an advanced genetics lab. It only had fifteen students in it and would last four hours or  
  
more depending on the day's lab exercise. I can't recall now what exactly we were  
  
prepped to do, but it doesn't matter, we never got to start. At five minute until three I left my office, lab book in hand, and made my way to the Genetics Lab down the hall. I noticed that the halls were deathly quiet, unusual for that time of day, but when I turned into the lab and saw that all of my students had already arrived, I shook the eeriness off and walked to the front of the lab as always. I was five minutes into the lab lecture when we heard what sounded like an explosion on the other side of the building. The noise was dulled through the thick walls of the one hundred-year-old building, but it was still loud enough to make us all turn towards the door. We watched, not knowing exactly what we expected to happen next, but we stared at the door anyway. A moment later there was another loud eruption from the same part of the building. My first thought was that there had been some kind of explosion within the gas lines, that a student had lit a Bunsen burner and the flame had been drawn into the line. After the third eruption I told my students to remain in their lab and I would go check on the noises. I walked quickly down the hall towards the main side of the building that housed the larger labs. Part of me wanted to run, but the other parts felt strongly that I should leave the building and take my students with me. Something inside of me told me that what I had heard was not a lab accident and that whatever it was, it was dangerous. But my sense of obligation to the other instructors and their students made me walk faster towards the main labs.  
  
As I turned the corner and came into the main hall, I came face to face with a scene I will never forget. Three men, dressed in black and donning black ski masks were standing down the hall about fifteen yards from me. They were each holding guns. One I  
  
recognized as some kind of semi-automatic and the other a rifle. I suddenly knew what the noises we had heard had been. At the feet of the men were four slumped and lifeless bodies and on the wall behind them three distinct areas of blood splatter. As I watched in horror, one of the men raised his weapon, and unloaded it into one of the bodies. Reacting to the sudden sound and the spray of blood I gasped loudly trying to stifle a scream, but it was too late. As if in slow motion, the three of them turned their heads towards me at once. One raised his arm towards me and in a heartbeat the other two broke into a run. I turned to run, to try to get back to my students, to get them out of the building, but as I turned I saw four more men in black exit the elevator I had just passed. They raised their weapons in unison, but before I could react I felt it. A sharp agonizing pain, like a knife being twisted into the flesh on my right side near my ribs. The last thing I remember after being shot for the first time, was the cold of the tile floor against my cheek before everything faded to black.  
  
When I awoke I heard the angry voices of my captors. What they were saying was garbled in my sluggish mind as I strained to regain consciousness. I forced my eyes  
  
open and the blurry images of light fixtures danced above me. As the image cleared, I  
  
realized I was still in the Science Hall, the main biology lab to be exact, and as alive as I  
  
could have hoped to be. I became aware suddenly of the muffled sobs of people near  
  
me. Still too weak to move, I assumed they were the students and instructors that had  
  
been scheduled to have class in the main labs that afternoon. I began to put together  
  
pieces of the conversation the men standing above me were having. I remember hearing the words 'crazy,' 'agent,' and 'woman' as well as references to the FBI and the police.  
  
They spoke English well so I assumed they were Americans, possibly, by one's accent, from the Chicago area. I was eventually able to turn my head to see one man with a walkie-talkie radio turn and walk to the other side of the room. Moments later I heard a dull thud and a muffled cry, followed by a string of profanities, and knew this faceless man was beating up one of his prisoners. I turned my eyes back toward the ceiling as one of the masked men bent over me. He said nothing, but cocked his head to one side as he reached down, grabbed my hair at the base of my skull, and pulled me up into the sitting position. Pain shot down my side reminding my just why I had been unconscious in the first place. My vision blacked and I pressed my head back against the wall behind me. As the pain subsided and my vision returned I could finally take into account where I was.  
  
The men had apparently herded their prisoners into the central lab in the main hall. It was a large lab filled with six long rows of benches. Each row could be worked from two sides and in the center on each side was a laminar flow hood. These were large pieces of equipment, about the size of a washing machine, that sat level with the counter tops. the students used them to prepare sterile solutions and work with living tissue without it becoming contaminated by room air. There were cabinets below the work areas, each being assigned a student each semester, containing the necessary glassware. The right and back walls of the room were covered in storage cabinets and at the left side of the room were the demonstration areas where most professors gave their pre-lab lectures. I was at the front of the lab, against the blank wall, only a few feet from the door to my right. From where I sat I could only hear the other captives in the room, but I could tell from the way the men marched up and down the rows, that they were lined up along the inside benches. There were six men with guns in the room. One by the door, one standing against the wall to my left, and two each on either side of the lab benches. They had a multitude of weapons. Each had either some kind of large rifle-type gun slung over his shoulder, a handgun at their side, and a few even had knives strapped at their ankles. They all still wore their masks and I noticed that their clothing did not only match in color, but they wore exactly the same garments. Except from some differences in sizes, you could not tell one from the other in their attire. The man with the radio returned to the front of the room and walked up to me.  
  
"What's your name, woman?" he asked in a harsh, haggard voice. I could tell he was older by the sound of it and his eyes, peering out from the holes in the mask, were pale blue, almost white, and small wrinkles lined his lids.  
  
"I asked you a question - answer!"  
  
"Katherine," I answered quietly, lowering my eyes from his dead stare.  
  
"Katherine what?"  
  
"Connor. Katherine Connor," I squirmed from the pain that suddenly exploded at my side.  
  
"Hurts, don't it?" he asked, a smile almost evident with his tone. "Trust me, at least the pain let's you know you're still alive." He nudged my leg with his boot as he stood up straight again. The sudden movement triggering another jolt of agony.  
  
His radio came to life seconds later. A man's voice, youthful and a little higher in tone, notifying the men in the room that "Carter" was on his way up to view the prisoners. It was then that I remembered the rest of the building. I couldn't come to any specific numbers but I knew that there were classrooms above us used by math and computer science and below us on the first floor were faculty offices and a couple of computer labs. The fourth floor should have been empty since the chemistry department had taken a number of students to a research meeting in Philadelphia and the entire faculty went as well. All told, there were probably between fifty and eighty people in the building, maybe more. I assumed that the people in the room with me were students from this floor's labs. Those meant about sixty people were lined up behind those counters. I remembered the bodies in the hallway. I couldn't tell who they had been, but I was sure they were the instructors from the three main labs. Vanessa was supposed to have been gone by three o'clock, so I held out hope that she had made it out. I shuddered wondering why, if they had killed the other lab instructors, that they hadn't killed me. Why had they taken the trouble to drag me into the lab with the others? Had they thought I was a student? Had the other instructors fought back?  
  
I was broken from my thoughts when the door beside me flung open. Two men dragged a lifeless body into the room followed by a man to whom the others nodded. The body was dropped against the bench in front of me. It was the day security guard. He had been shot in the chest but perhaps not before he was beaten, such was the state of his battered face. The man that had entered last removed his mask and nodded to the  
  
others who followed suit. The man, whom I assumed was Carter, was in his fifties, his full head of hair a faded shade of blonde. He was tall and muscular under his black clothing and when he turned towards me, I saw the darkest, most determined eyes I had ever seen.  
  
"Why's she up here?" he asked to any one of the men who might answer.  
  
"We shot her. Thought she was a goner, but it was only a graze. This was the easiest place to drop her," one answered. He was in his twenties, probably younger than most of the students whom he held captive. He had long, dark hair pulled back at the base of his neck.  
  
"Yeah, and up her she's easier to get to for other purposes," another spoke up. It was the one with the radio. He winked at me and laughed softly, with a sinister intent.  
  
"Is she the one?" Carter asked, turning to the man behind him.  
  
"Can't tell. Don't think so," he answered.  
  
"Well, find out. It's possible Donovan knew we were coming. He may have planted one of his little friends in here. Casey says he thinks the download happened at one of the faculty computers. Could be hers."  
  
"Well, if she is who she says she is, then I saw her office - no computer. She's an instructor. Hired new each year. From the information we got from Casey she's new but everything looks good."  
  
"Yeah, well, Donovan and his puppets have a way of making things look good-  
  
too good," Carter looked at me intently. I did my best not to break the stare, trying not to look as defeated as I felt. He finally looked up at the rest of the men, "Turn on your radios boys. Casey says we have a clear line for the ear buds."  
  
Simultaneously, the men reached into their pockets and pulled out the cordless ear buds that would apparently now serve as their means of communication. The older man with the handheld radio placed it on the counter and walked away as if he had just thrown it away.  
  
"Take our little friend here for a tour of the room," Carter said two other men, nodding at me. "Find her a nice cozy spot in the back."  
  
With that I was jerked up from my spot on the floor and practically dragged to the back of the room. As I passed, I tried to size up the situation down each row of benches. As I had thought, they were all students, about sixty of them. Many of the girls were crying softly and became notably more upset as they saw my blood-soaked lab coat pass by them. In the last row were my students from the last lab. Their eyes widened when they saw me. One boy tried to stand to come to my aid as they dropped me against the back cabinets, but one of the thugs hit him in the shoulder with the butt of his rifle and ordered him to sit back. I leaned against the wall, trying to focus on my breathing, feigning comfort, feeling only excruciating pain. I could feel all their eyes staring at me intently. I realized that I was the only 'adult' in the room. They had heard or seen their other instructors murdered and were merely waiting for my own demise. I tried my best to look strong for them. Even though they were not much younger than I was, I knew my position meant they would look to me for comfort and strength. It was that fact that both motivated and terrified me as I looked to the front of the room, watching as the men gathered in the corner by the door, plotting their next move. After a few moments, the group broke up and Carter came forward.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, as if what we were about to see next was some kind of sideshow display, "my name is Philip Carter I am, for all intents and purposes, a wanted felon. There's no need to sugarcoat the facts because who I am is why we are all here. You see my main job today is to draw the attention of the world to this stately institution. I'm not here because I want to hurt anyone; it's just that hurting people is how you get other people's attention. And if the right people show up here today, the right person to be specific, then this should all be over fairly quickly.  
  
"Don't make any mistakes, though. The threats to your lives are real. I think we made that point when we shot your little professors. Don't think of escaping, the outside doors are locked and armed with plastic explosives, and my men are all over the building, and they will kill you if they see you. The administration has already been notified of the situation and your little campus has been evacuated. The police are outside the building as we speak, but don't think they're just going to come in here and sweep you out. They won't make a move until the government gets here. This is, repeat after me, a hostage situation. And a very serious one at that. They're about to send their best negotiators here to try and talk me out of this 'madness.' But that's not going to happen. The person I'm waiting for is going to pay for what he has done to me. And you, my friends, are the price."  
  
He smiled as he turned his back to us and walked out the door. I could imagine him making his way to other rooms, other hostages, making the same speech. It was one I was sure he enjoyed making. He had the eyes of a man who was prepared to do  
  
anything to get what he wanted.  
  
I looked back at my students. Most were crying softly, trying not to draw unwanted attention to themselves, while others sat, their legs drawn up and their arms wrapped around them, staring at the floor, in a mild state of shock. I clutched my side, to hide both the blood and the pain, but I could feel the eyes of the girl directly across from me, staring intently at the bright red stains on my clothes and the red-brown crust forming on my hands. I forced a small smile when she looked me in the eyes, but I knew she could see in them what I was feeling: pain, fear, and most of all disgust.  
  
I pulled my eyes from her when I heard the door open. One of the men walked in, said something to one of the others in the front, and then waved at three of the men in the room to follow him. After they left, the three left in the room with us, repositioned, one in front, and one on each side of the room. Somewhere in the distance, perhaps on another floor, there came a charge – another gunshot. 'Another instructor,' I thought to myself. They were going to kill all of them. But why not me? Who did they think I was? Carter had asked if I was the 'one.' Maybe they still thought I was whoever that may have been. If that theory was keeping me alive, what were they planning on doing to me?  
  
The question had barely entered my mind when the answer walked in. Vanessa. She had been beaten almost beyond recognition. Her hair was matted, her clothes wet and torn. It looked like they had used a fire hose on her. She could barely walk and I could see that her hands were bound behind her back as they dragged her to the back of the room, letting her fall at my side, her head hitting the cabinet hard behind her. She was so far gone mentally; she did not even wince at the pain it must have caused. She stared straight ahead, never once acknowledging my presence. She shook all over, her trembling hands falling weakly into her lap. I realized then that she must have been freezing. I hurried to get her warm. I tried to rub her arms, to get circulation back to them, but she recoiled at my touch, sliding away from me, then laying down on her side and pulling her knees up to her chest. I slowly removed my lab coat. Despite it's bloodstains, it was the only thing close to a blanket I had to offer her as I draped it across her trembling, suddenly fragile body.  
  
The door opened again. Carter walked in and marched directly to the back of the room. He stood above me, stared for a second as though as I was some kind of alien being to him, then waved to another one of the men.  
  
"Bring her," he demanded, pointing to me.  
  
Although I did not look at them, I could feel the students tense and their cumulative sense of fear flooded the room. As one of the men grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, Vanessa shot up from the floor and grabbed my leg at the thigh.  
  
"Don't let them kill me. Don't leave me here. Promise me you'll come back. I'll die. I'll die. Promise me," she begged, bloodstained tears flowing down her dirty cheeks.  
  
"Get down, witch," Carter barked, kicking her off of me, his black boot slamming into her jaw.  
  
"Promise me," she pleaded, curling up on the floor.  
  
"I promise," I said softly as they jerked me towards the door. "You won't die here. I'll come back!" I was screaming now. Stepping through the doorway into the hall, I watched her as the door slowly closed. Her eyes wide like a child's. It was to be my last memory of her. 


	3. From Water To Blood

After the door shut, the men tide my hands behind my back, and lead me down the hall towards the elevator. Once inside, they sent it down to the boiler room. We exited into the dark, hot depths of the room, making our way slowly, avoiding jutting pipes and jets of steam. The whole scene appeared ridiculous. It was like something out of a movie. The problem was, this was not a movie, this was real. I was being held hostage by a crazy man out on a personal vendetta and being marched into the bowels of the school where God knows what was about to happen to me. I was scared. Hell, I was terrified. My ribs ached from the gunshot wound and from tightening my muscles to choke the sobs of tears that wanted to pour from me. I shut my eyes tight, not allowing the scene unfold in front of me. Whatever lay ahead, I did not want to watch it come at me. I kept my eyes closed until we stopped. As I opened them I saw for the first time the Hell that Vanessa had returned from. They had set up their own torture chamber in our building faster than they had taken the place over. That's when I realized that there had been more advanced planning involved in this scenario that I had originally thought.  
  
As I looked around at few men standing in front of me, talking over what looked like blueprints in the corner, I recognized two of them. They were maintenance men. They worked at the school. They had been there longer than I had been. My mind swarmed with thoughts at this realization. How long had they been planning this? How could anyone slip into the system, make 'friends' within the school, and then betray the basic trust of so many people.  
  
"That's a question I plan on asking Mr. Donovan, when he shows up," Carter said, smiling as he turned to me. It was then that I realized my 'thoughts' had been said aloud.  
  
"What's wrong Ms. Connor? Surprised that we could take an entire building hostage?" he continued, a greasy smile across his face. "And to answer your question, we've been planning this 'scenario' for about two years. I myself have had plans for much longer, but your little school wasn't in them until I met Kevin here." He swept his arm up, broadly pointing to an older man across the room, hunched over the blueprints. "And now my dear, I'm afraid we must dispense with the pleasantries. You have information I want. And I have to find a way to get it out of you, even if that means bleeding it out."  
  
"What information? I don't even know who you are. How could I possibly know anything important to you?" I spat at him.  
  
"Oh, good show," he smiled, mimicking applause. "But I'm afraid you'll have to do better if you plan on convincing me that you don't know our Mr. Donovan and his clan. Casey over there has intelligence claiming Donovan had a person in here watching for us. He doesn't think it could be you, but your arrival here coincides with the supposed arrival of the agent. I don't believe that to be mere coincidence. But, I'm only human, I could be wrong. But just in case I'm not, let's play a little game." He nodded to the men that held.  
  
Suddenly I was jerked across the floor, my feet barely touching solid ground, and my bound wrists tied again with chain wrapped around the ceiling support been. I practically hung in the air, the agonizing effects of gravity pulling harshly at my arms and shoulders. The toes of my shoes grazed the ground as I swung lightly. One of the men came forward holding a large knife. I shut my eyes, expecting the worst, but instead felt the tug at my sweater as the knife cut it off of me, exposing the black camisole underneath. I opened my eyes slowly, only to see him walk away, tossing the now shredded sweater to the corner.  
  
"Ms. Connor," Carter began again, "Let me tell you how this game works. I'm going to tell you everything I'm going to do to you now. In between, if you tell me what I want to know, I'll stop. If you don't say anything I want to hear, then I'll continue. Unfortunately this means that if you are not an agent, you'll experience every slice of pain I deliver. Either way, you're going to hurt, and I'm going to have some fun." He smiled and swept his hand through the air again. I got the feeling he thought he was a magician. This was all one big show to him. When he turned back around I saw, curled in his hand, a whip. Every muscle in my body tensed at the image and the impending damage to come.  
  
"First, Ms. Connor, I'm going to use this." He displayed the whip like it was a priceless icon. "Between each lash, you get the opportunity to cough up any information you might have. If I receive no satisfaction from this device, I turn to the hoses. If blasting you with enough water pressure to bruise every square inch of your body turns up nothing, then we move on. The jumper cables you see to your right are attached to a generator and each clamp holds a nice, wet sponge. If I place the sponges anywhere on your body and turn on the generator, and then you will receive the shock of your life, I promise you that much. If even this proves ineffective, then, well, I begin pulling teeth – literally. Each tooth offers a chance to provide the much-desired words I want to hear. And when I run out of teeth, I start breaking bones, and so on and so forth. So, before I begin, do you have anything to say Ms. Connor?"  
  
"I already told you. I don't know anything. I'm not an agent for anyone. I don't know any Donovan," I could hear my words trembling despite my attempts to feign resolve.  
  
"That's too bad," he said, letting the end of the whip fall to the ground, while he tightly grasped the handle.  
  
  
  
Carter followed through on his word. I endured hours of whiplashes and water beatings. My stomach felt cold and bruised from the hoses, but my back, still split open from the whip, felt warm from the blood that drained slowly from me. Although Carter himself did not inflict every blow, leaving after the first few minutes to check on the security of the building, I could tell he was checking in with the men as one would occasionally retreat to the back of the room and whisper something seemingly to himself. I watched as they prepared the clamps and sponges for their next attack, barely listening to the man that screamed into my ear, demanding me to let forth knowledge I did not have. After a few moments, he signaled to the others to come forth. After offering me one more chance at mercy, the men set to work.  
  
The pain of the electricity writhing through my body was excruciating. Though my eyes were open during the blasts, they saw only darkness. My screams were soon too much for my body to emit and I eventually went limp, allowing the chains to hold me in place, my only acknowledgment of my torture being the involuntary jerks of my muscles. I vaguely heard their voices over the thunderous ringing in my head. Their resonant voices sounding like little more than mice in a tunnel. After the last fire-like burst of energy that coursed through my body, my mind went blank and I passed out. I awoke after what felt like hours, but was most likely only a few minutes, to see Carter's face near my own.  
  
"I see, my dear, we're not getting very far with you," he snarled, his eyes appraising me as one might do a slaughtered cow. "I have a feeling you're trouble. I can't have that at a moment like this. You had better have something interesting to say soon or my patience may run out."  
  
"Sir, he's on the phone. He wants to talk to you," a young voice shouted from somewhere behind Carter.  
  
"Well, the cavalry's arrived," he winked and slapped my stomach with the back of his hand. Pain shot through me like a bullet, but I could no longer react.  
  
I forced myself to ask one question. "If you thought I was the one you were looking for," I struggled for a breath, "then why did you hurt her?"  
  
Carter turned. "Her? Oh, your young friend from the lab. That's simple really. She tried to protect her students, she fought with one of my men, nearly got his gun, and for that she was punished," he recalled as if he had scolded a child. He then turned and made his way towards the voice and the phone.  
  
Some of the longest minutes of my life passed as he conversed with whom I assumed were the authorities. He and his men returned to me shortly. Carter was obviously unhappy with the outcome of the conversation.  
  
"Mr. Donovan claims you're not his," Carter informed me. "I don't know if I believe that. I know he had someone in here. I know it. You fit the profile. It has to be you." His anger and confusion were mounting. He was worried. Not worried that he was torturing the wrong person exactly. More to the point, he was worried that the person he wanted was still out there, unknown, and reporting to this man named Donovan.  
  
"Well, I guess the best way to find out is to continue our little game, isn't it?" He reached towards my right and picked up an instrument from a small table. I recognized the pliers as soon as they appeared before me. "Say, ah!"  
  
As I came to for the about the eighth time, I was horrified to see three of my molars lying on the ground before me. Though most of the bleeding had stopped, I could still feel a ribbon of warmth trickle down my chin. The water on the floor was now bright red. I could see the bottom of my camisole as the frays dripped the red liquid onto the floor. Carter had tired of my screams and returned to the details of negotiations. There was one man left in the room with me. He was seated at the table to my right, going over what appeared to be building plans.  
  
"Please, let me down," I managed to whisper in his direction. "I won't do anything, I swear. I can't stay like this any longer."  
  
"Shut up," he barked, not taking his eyes off the papers in front of him.  
  
"Please, I swear, I won't be any trouble," I pleaded, the tears beginning to stream down my cheeks.  
  
He looked up at me. "Carter said you stayed there. I follow his orders."  
  
"You follow the orders of a mad man," I spat at him through gritted teeth, my fear and loathing rising from within my pain.  
  
"He has his reasons. I believe they're just."  
  
"What possible reason could he have to justify the torture and murder of innocent human beings? I think you're as crazy as your boss."  
  
He shot from his chair and stood in front of me. "We're not crazy. Carter's old lady was killed by that fed Donovan. She was protecting him. She was never involved. She was just protecting her husband and they gunned her down."  
  
"Why were they after Carter to begin with? Drugs?"  
  
"No. Weapons. You should know that."  
  
"I don't know anything," I said louder, but regretted it instantly as my swollen gums reminded me of my wounds.  
  
"Maybe you don't. But it was that bust that killed him. They may have shot at him, but it was the bullet that hit her that killed him."  
  
"If she wasn't involved, why was she there?"  
  
"Hey, he didn't know about the bust. None of us could have. Some damn undercover cop bought a shipment from us then followed the trail. Carter brought the Mrs. along on one of the buys. She was sitting in the car when the guns started going. She ran to help her husband. She didn't know."  
  
"Then how could the Fed have known? This Donovan guy couldn't have known she wasn't part of it. How can you blame one person?"  
  
"I'm tired of talking about this," he said, his hands meeting above my head. With one sudden motion, I was cut from my bindings and dropped to the ground. "Now stay put. I don't wanna have to shoot you," he said as he returned to his chair.  
  
I lay in the pool of water and blood below me, half curled into a ball. I could feel my hair soaking up the mixture, but I was momentarily unable to do anything about it. I eventually forced myself to sit up against the post behind me. The stinging sensations from the torn flesh of my back made me sit back up and reposition myself. Of course bending forward sent shockwaves of pain through my body from the bruises on my stomach. I slowly brought my knee up to my chest. I rested my elbow upon it and let my forehead drop into my upturned palm. It was all I could do to breathe normally. I sat in that position for a while before I noticed a glass of water appear before me. "Here," was all I heard before I watched my guard return to his post.  
  
After a moment he began to talk to someone over the radio. From the one side of the discussion I could hear there was some confusion over the layout of the building. Apparently there was fear of an attack by the authorities now surrounding the building. I couldn't completely understand all he was saying but, from what I did, there were tunnels under the buildings. They were maintenance tunnels for the steam pipes that supplied heat to main buildings of campus. Since Carter and his men only controlled this one building, it was a concern that the police could send teams through the tunnels from other buildings. I gathered that Carter had men in the tunnels, but they couldn't hold back a large team of police or federal agents. That was when I realized why they took so many hostages. That was their only pawn in this game. If the police moved in, then they would most likely start killing their hostages.  
  
I think that was when I decided to try to escape. As strange as it sounds, it had never occurred to me before that point. My pain and fear were transforming into a resolve to survive, no matter the cost. I could clear a path for the police from the inside out. They could get in and Vanessa wouldn't die. Without a second thought I determined that I would have to find a way to get the tunnel map, a gun, and a radio. The improbability of success never cam to mind. 


	4. Desperate TimesDesperate Measures

I sat on the cold, wet ground for I suppose about an hour. I watched my captor as he studied the maps in front of him, pausing accordingly to speak into his radio. I scanned the room silently, looking for anything to aid my escape. Pushed against a far wall was an old office desk. Barely discernable in the darkness of the boiler room were the outlines of the handheld radios I had seen earlier. They must have been collected and placed down here for safe keeping after the men switched over to the smaller radios. If I could get out of this place, I would need to get one of the radios and find the right channel to contact the police. I looked over at the young man hovering over the building plans.  
  
"How'd you meet Carter?" I asked hesitantly.  
  
"Why do you care?" he shot back harshly.  
  
"Just curious. I mean, you look a lot younger than most of these guys. I assume you haven't known him long."  
  
"Well you're wrong. I've known him since I was a kid. He and his wife practically raised me. They kept me off the streets when I was a teenager; my parents weren't around much – drug addicts. Phil kept me straight."  
  
"Straight? This is what you call straight? Murdering and torturing innocent people? If this is what you think straight means, I'd hate to see what you'd do if you went bad."  
  
"Shut up! You don't know nothin'. You and all your little college preps. We're just doing what has to be done. It's the only way to get their attention. To let them know we're serious!"  
  
"Please! What's with the 'we?' I can tell from the look in your eye that you're just as scared of him as the rest of these hostages. That's what you are, you know? You're his hostage, too. Only you're worse off than the rest of us. He's got us by gunpoint. He's got you by guilt."  
  
"That's enough. You don't know what you're talking about, bitch!"  
  
"Oh, I think I do. And I think you know it, too. You're just sticking with him because you think you owe him something. But you know what? You don't. I can't believe that anyone could do anything for you that was equivalent to the sacrifice you've made for him."  
  
"What sacrifice?"  
  
"Your freedom. He's got a chain around you. You think that because he makes you money, because he treats you like 'family,' you owe it to him to stick around. But you don't want to do you? I can see it right now. You're terrified and you want out. But you can't get out now. If you rat on them, Carter will kill you. If the police come storming in, they'll probably kill you. See that's really what your sacrifice will be. Your life."  
  
"It'll be worth it."  
  
"No it won't. It never is. You think you'll go down in a blaze of glory or something? It doesn't work that way, Wyatt Earp. You'll die and all the newspaper will say is that the police managed to effectively retrieve the hostages after taking down several of Carter's men. That's what you are. One of Carter's men. And after you're dead, that's all you'll ever be. So I guess you've also given up you own existence. To be what exactly? I mean, being as close to him as you are, do you have a job title or something? Besides, the jack ass with the floor plans."  
  
"That's it. I've been patient enough. Keep your mouth shut from now on or the tape goes back over your mouth and I throw you back up from the beams. You understand?" he screamed, gesturing madly with an open pocketknife pulled from his side pocket, hoping to effectively scare me.  
  
"Sorry. I'll shut up. Didn't know I hit a nerve," I said, calmly as I could, staring at him coldly, matching his eyes with my own. I was determined not to let him see my fear.  
  
He huffed, trying to think of something to say, or trying to avoid saying something he'd regret, then turned back towards the table and jammed the knife into the tabletop. Allowing the echo of its impact to be the only expression of his frustration. He looked at me once more, his lips tensed, his eyes cold, and both fists clenched. Then he turned and walked to the end of the room, whispering into the earpiece to one of the other men.  
  
The opportunity now present, I reached up slowly, scooting a little way across the floor, and grasped the knife handle tightly. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest as I worked the knife free from the desk and brought it down to rest by my side. I closed my eyes. Trying to summon all the energy I had for what I was planning to do next. After a few deep breaths, which hurt more than actual movement, I opened my eyes again. My target was still across the room talking into the radio intently. I slowly and painfully brought my legs up under me, now squatting against the post behind me. Placing one hand on post, and gripping tightly to the knife with the other, I slowly slid myself up to a standing position. The cold metal of the post felt like broken glass against the lash marks beneath my shirt. I winced at the sharpness of the pain but forced my body to stand. I paused a moment, my full weight against the post, almost blacking out from the pain and fatigue these simple motions caused. I watched the young man across the room for a while, hoping he wouldn't turn to see me before I was ready. He was talking to someone, laughing lightly, his back fully turned towards me. I waited silently, not really sure what I was waiting for, but in the next instant I heard it.  
  
"Okay, Unit Two out," he said, reaching up towards his vest and turning the radio off.  
  
Without a second thought, I launched myself across the room, straight towards to figure before me. The scream I that came from me as I attacked both motivated and frightened me. I hit his back with the full force of my body, knocking him onto his stomach. He struggled beneath me, his right elbow shooting up and landing straight into lower lip. Stunned, I shifted my weight to the left, leaving him enough room to roll over and grab my right arm at the wrist, trying to prevent the knife from falling into his chest. I reached over with my free hand but his shot up and grabbed my left wrist as well. I used all the weight I had to keep him from rolling me over while still trying to push the knife down to him. It scares me now to think of how much I wanted to hurt him. How badly I wanted him dead. He was just a child really, but a dangerous one and I knew that it was either he or I. We both fought with all we had, each trying to gain control of the metal blade in my hand, both grunting and growling like wild animals fighting over a kill. I could taste the blood welling up in my mouth from the blow he delivered, but the once sickening salty taste now only fueled my raging fire.  
  
He let go of my left wrist and grabbed my throat. The air began to escape from me, but I still fought. I smashed my now free hand into his face, clasping my fingers across his mouth, pressing the back of his head as hard as I could against the cold concrete beneath us. His groans were muffled beneath my hand. His face was red and his eyes were watering. I realized that he was suffocating but my own breathlessness from his chokehold prevented me from caring. His grasp on my throat loosened enough to allow me a few shallow breaths. The precious oxygen flooded my body, returning to normal my blurring vision. I pushed down on the hand holding the knife with a newfound strength, forcing his left arm down a couple of inches. His eyes closed and he screamed beneath my tight grip as I jabbed my knee into his stomach. My hand and the knife dropped a few more inches towards his body. He removed his clenched hand from my throat as his legs thrashed on the floor behind me. Straddling his body as I was made his legs useless, and his struggle with them was a waste of energy. He grabbed the forearm above the hand that was blocking his scream and forced it up along with the hand holding the knife. He gasped for air as he struggled to lift me off of him. As he pushed against my right arm, fighting off the knife, he allowed his other arm, still grasping my forearm, to fall back. This allowed me to shift my weight to the left more and opened the playing field between the two arms fighting for control of the blade.  
  
I pushed as hard as I could against his upward thrust. As my arm began to give and the knife blade began to come slowly towards me, I lifted myself up slightly and felled my knee as hard as I could into his stomach one more time. As he gasped from the force of the lunge, his muscular reflex was to weaken his left arm against my weight. As he relaxed his arm, my own, still under the full strength of my push, fell hard and straight at his throat. As the blade sliced through his flesh, sectioning his jugular and trachea, every muscle in his body tensed for a single instant. Then, as the blood began to stream from his gashed throat and gasping mouth, his body relaxed and he choked out one last breath.  
  
As his grip on my arms was released, I unclenched my hand from the knife and sat up, staring down into his face. His eyes were open, staring blankly towards the ceiling. I remained on top of him for a long time, staring down at the blood on the floor and my hand. I turned my right hand over and over; staring in disbelief at the lines of blood that trickled down it. I was suddenly aware of the warm tears flowing down my cheeks. I could not recall when I had started crying, but part of me knew it had been long before the knife fell upon the man's throat that now lay beneath me.  
  
"Why did you do this?" I asked softly, fighting back the madness that was building within me. "Why couldn't you have just left us alone? Damn you! You were too young to die! Why did you make me do this?" I was stifling screams, my fists clenched and my jaw locked. I broke down into sobs, lowering my face into my bloody hands, trying to stop my body as it quaked beneath me, every muscle trembling. I brought my face up from my hands, as I tasted the acid building in my mouth. I crawled off of the body and managed to pull away a few feet before my stomach relieved it's tension onto the hard floor. I choked tears and saliva hitting the floor with equal violence. I curled up against the wall, too weak and disillusioned to move.  
  
Moments later I heard the faint static of the radio the young man had used to keep in contact with the others. The communication device had been knocked from his ear and was lying next to his shoulder; the cord still attached to the pack strapped around his waist. I could not hear what the voice on the other end was saying but I knew that once they realized he was not going to answer them, they would come down to find out what was going on. I realized that I had to get out of there immediately. I ran to the table holding the floor plans. I shuffled through them, quickly locating the tunnel maps. The maps weren't as easy to read as I had hoped, but I soon saw that the entrance to the tunnels for the building I was in was on the other side of the boiler room. I memorized as much as I could, too afraid to take the map, thinking that if they saw it was missing, they would know exactly where to come looking for me. I grabbed one of the handheld radios off the other table and switched it on. I switched it on; scanning the channels for voices, but in the end heard nothing. I turned off the unit to save the batteries and decided to wait until I was some distance into the tunnels before trying to contact anyone.  
  
I was making my way across the room, towards the tunnel entrance when I remembered what I had heard the young man say about guarding the tunnels. Carter's men were already in there. Probably not too far in from the perimeter of the building. I realized then that I would need a weapon. This game was going to be a lot more complicated than just hide-and-seek. I remembered the man saying he didn't want to have to shoot me. He'd had a gun. I looked back at the body. His holster was empty; I could not recall him even trying to reach for it during the struggle. He'd left it somewhere as carelessly as he had left the knife. I searched the room with my eyes, trying to make out the dark shape of a handgun. I saw it on the table he had been standing at during his last communication with Carter. I rushed over and grabbed it, turned off the safety, and tried to trick myself into thinking I knew more about weapons that what I had seen in the movies.  
  
As I turned away from the table, I noticed again the young man's radio lying next to him on the floor. I knelt down, removed the pack from his waist, and attached the radio to myself. I thought that if I could monitor their communications, I could stay a few steps ahead of them. I also took form the body the small flashlight he had in one of the side pockets of his pants. As I pulled it out, a small piece of paper slid out with it and fell to the floor. I picked it up and turned it over. In the dim light I could see the lovely face of a young woman, about the age of the boy lying next to me. On the back was written: For Johnny, you don't know how much you mean to me. Love, Sarah. I closed my eyes, slowly released the breath I had been holding as I read the inscription. "So, you were in love," I said softly, looking down into the cold stare of the boy I now knew was Johnny. "I told you it wasn't worth it." The radio came to life in my ear, causing me to jump. The unknown voice was calling for Unit Two to answer, but Unit Two would never answer to anyone again. I knew that after another unresponsive call they would be heading down to the boiler room any second. I gently reached up and closed Johnny's eyes before I stood and quickly made my way to the other side of the room.  
  
I paused in front of the entrance to the tunnels. The light in the tunnel was sparse. Only a few fluorescent lights were sporadically hung down the length of tunnel I could see before me. I eased my way down the few steps from the boiler room into the tunnel itself. I pressed my back against the smooth stone wall. The hardness of it hurt, but the cool dampness of the wall eased the heat of the pain. I gripped the gun in my hand tightly. In front of me was a sharp right turn. In my mind, I knew one of Carter's men was lurking around that corner. I jumped a little as the hot pipes above me suddenly hissed, the cool condensation dripping on them. I pressed myself against the wall tighter as I raised my weapon, aiming at whatever might be ahead of me. I collected myself and stepped around corner. Standing there, with his back to me, was one of Carter's men. He was leaning against the left side of the tunnel watching directly ahead of him. He hadn't heard me approach, he was completely entranced in the task of preventing the police entrance to the building.  
  
"She's gone! All units, one of the hostages is gone! She's killed Johnny!" the radio came to life in my ear. I jumped and so did the man in front of me. "Check the tunnels, make sure she didn't make it out," the bodiless voice commanded.  
  
At that, the guard turned and faced directly into the barrel of my gun. The shock on his face, I'm sure, matched the terror in my own. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him reach for his own sidearm and with the reflexes of a seasoned officer, I squeezed the trigger. All I saw was the flash from the gun and then the instant redness on his chest. I had fired directly into his heart. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest, astonishment and pain intermingling in his expression. I kept the gun aimed on him, not moving until he fell over onto ground. I instinctually grabbed his weapon and tucked it into the waistband of my jeans and started to move away from him, further into the tunnel. I didn't even stop to think about the coldness I had felt when I had shot him. I had made an unconscious decision to kill any and all of Carter's men that got in my way. I had to get out of that place. I wasn't the only person in danger. I promised Vanessa that I would get her out, that she wouldn't have to die in that room that day.  
  
"Was that gunfire?" a voice on the radio asked.  
  
Another chimed in, "What was that?"  
  
"All units check in. Now!" Carter's voice demanded through the airways.  
  
I knew it wouldn't be long before they found out which unit was down. I picked up my pace, almost running, wanting to move ahead as quickly as possible, but still aware that there may be others ahead of me. I tried to bring up a mental image of the tunnel map, praying I wouldn't make a wrong turn and end up back in the Science Hall. I kept moving in the direction I thought was West, towards the campus chapel, the closest building to the Science Hall. I turned on the handheld radio, careful not to turn up the volume too far. I switched through the stations, stopping at each one announcing my name and where I was. I stopped walking, leaned up against the wall, and watching both ends of the tunnel for Carter's men, flipped through channel after channel, pausing only moments for a response. After a while I began to worry that maybe the radio didn't work or that Carter had rigged it to only work on certain channels for security purposes. Then, just as I was about to give up on one channel, a voice stopped me.  
  
"Hello?" a woman's voice called from the device in my hand. "Hello? Is someone on here?"  
  
"Hello! Yes. Please, I need the police. I'm one of the hostages at the college. I need to talk to the police!" I said into the microphone, wanting to scream the words in desperation.  
  
"Okay. Just calm down honey. I'm on a walkie-talkie about a mile from campus, in the park. You have to give me time to find someone. Keep talking to me."  
  
"I can't keep talking. I'm hiding, you need to hurry. I've killed a couple of their men, they're going to find me soon."  
  
"You what? You killed…I mean, okay, I'll hurry. I'm in my car now, just leaving the park. I'll tell you when I reach the campus."  
  
I had been half-listening to the chaos on Carter's radios. They were done searching the building and close to realizing one of the tunnel guards was down. If they saw that one of the radios were missing, they would know to try to monitor them as well. I had to keep as quiet as possible should they discover what channel I was on. I moved down the tunnel further, probing through the dim light, too afraid to use my flashlight, hoping not to alert anyone ahead of my presence.  
  
"Okay, sweetie. I'm at the campus. The roads are blocked. I'm going to give the radio to one of the policemen up ahead. Good luck, honey."  
  
"Thank you," I said without pushing the 'talk' button. I was thanking the Fates now, more than I was thanking her.  
  
After a few more yards I saw a small alcove in the wall. There was a drain in the floor within it and a light trickle of water falling from an open pipe in the ceiling. It smelled almost like sewage, but it was the only place to hide in a straight tunnel and I needed a relatively safe place to rest. I pressed myself into the small space, the stinking water dripping onto my shoulder. Seconds later, the radio in my ear came to life.  
  
"Alpha Team, move back. We can't find the woman. Secure the building perimeter, make sure she isn't in the tunnels." there was an acknowledgement from the team leader who asked each of his units to check in. It only took him a few seconds to find that one unit would not respond.  
  
The call went out that I had made it to the tunnels. The tunnel team was working their way back towards the science building. That meant some of them were making their way towards me. I had no idea how many. I assumed only a couple, but one could prove to be enough. A few seconds later, the handheld broke it's silence and the voice of the man, who could have been until that time a figment of Carter's imagination, came through loud and clear.  
  
"Hello? This is special agent Frank Donovan. Is anyone there?" I stared at the radio for a while. Unable to comprehend that so far, my plan was working. "Hello?"  
  
"Yes," I stuttered, the tears sneaking down my face, "I'm here."  
  
"Who is this?" the voice calmly inquired.  
  
"My name is Katherine Connor. I'm a biology instructor here at the school."  
  
"Okay, Miss Connor, we have your name. Where are you?"  
  
"In the tunnels. I think I'm between the Science Hall and the Chapel. You have to help me. They know I'm down here now. I've killed two of their men. Carter ordered the men in the tunnels back to the building. They're going to find me soon."  
  
"How do you know he ordered them back?"  
  
"I took one of their radios. I've been monitoring them."  
  
"That was a very good move, Kate," Donovan said. His was the first human voice I had heard in hours that did not terrify me. "Okay, Kate, I assume you have a weapon, right?"  
  
"Yes, handgun," I answered, unable to give him more information on the firearm.  
  
"Good. Now listen, should anyone find you down there, do not hesitate to take whatever action you feel is necessary. I want you to do whatever it takes to stay alive."  
  
"I already have," I answered, letting the hand with the radio fall to my side. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall. Every muscle in my body was pleading with me, trying to force me down. But I could not rest now. I was too close and Carter's men were coming back down the tunnel.  
  
I could hear their heavy footsteps on the hard, wet floor as they neared me. I tightened my grip on my weapon and prepared for a confrontation. But in their haste to make it back to the building, they moved right past me, their eyes looking at nothing but the uncertain darkness ahead. I stuck my head out enough to watch them until they almost disappeared in the dim light. I quickly made my way from my hiding place and down the tunnel in the direction from which the men had come. I had just turned the corner when I heard one of Carter's men come over the radio.  
  
"Come on, Tim. We just came through, there's no one back there."  
  
"I know I heard something. Thought I saw something, too"  
  
"What's going on, gentlemen?" Carter's voice broke in.  
  
"I thought I heard someone in the tunnel behind us, sir," said the second voice.  
  
"Probably just a rat," interjected the first.  
  
"Well, check it out. Then get back here," Carter commanded.  
  
Both men acknowledge the order.  
  
"Okay, Tim, at least wait for me to catch up," came the first voice.  
  
"Whatever. Hey, ain't we supposed to not use our real names?" the second voice teased. Only this time I didn't just hear his words in the earpiece. I heard it echo from around the corner. I threw myself against the wall, closely eyeing the edge of the corner for a shadow or the barrel of a gun.  
  
"See anything Tim?" said the first voice over the radio.  
  
"Nah. Guess I'm just being paranoid."  
  
"Okay, then let's get back. These tunnels give me the creeps."  
  
I heard the man around the corner begin to step away. As I began to relax, grateful for their departure, a voice came over the handheld louder than I would have liked.  
  
"Miss Connor? Are you still there? Kate?" Donovan asked, searching the silence.  
  
Before I could react, the man they had called Tim threw himself around the corner. His gun was up before mine and without a second thought, he fired. I dodged, but it was not enough. The bullet hit my left shoulder, knocking me to the ground. The radio fell next to me. I could still hear Donovan's voice calling for me to respond.  
  
"Mr. Carter, sir, I have her," Tim shouted as I rolled onto my side. I had dropped my gun and was clutching my shoulder.  
  
"Good," Carter replied, "Kill her." I heard the words exactly when Tim did over the radio. I saw him nod and position his weapon above me out of the corner of my eye.  
  
"You got her Tim?" asked a voice close to us.  
  
"Yeah," Tim answered, turning his head to watch his partner approach.  
  
As he turned, I reached down and grabbed the gun tucked into my waistband. I pulled it out and pointed it at the man above me. As he began to look back at me, I pulled the trigger repeatedly, sending three bullets flailing into his chest and stomach. The force of each hit caused him to fall back, his body convulsing with each explosion. He hit the wall behind him and slid down as his legs gave way to his weight.  
  
"Tim!" I heard the other man scream.  
  
Too worried about his friend he came around the corner and fell to Tim's side. In shock, he turned towards me, his hands trembling as he tried to steady the rifle in their grasp. Before his hand was on the trigger, I unloaded three more bullets into him. He fell face down across his partner's legs.  
  
I fell back against the wet ground, letting the gun slip from my grasp. I had done everything I could physically do at that point. I could hear Donovan's voice still pleading for a response. I rolled over, almost onto my stomach, and pushed the button on the radio. All I could say was, "The tunnel from the Chapel is clear." At that point, every muscle in my body went limp, and everything went dark.  
  
I do not know how long I lay there waiting to die. But I eventually heard the sound of footsteps coming from what I thought was the direction of the Chapel. I could not bring myself to look up as they reached me. I could only see their shadows as they surveyed the scene. One of them knelt beside me. I jumped when the person reached out and touched my arm. As surprised as I was by the contact, the warmth of the hand on my skin comforted me. I was slowly rolled over onto my back. I opened my eyes to see a group of men standing above me. I looked at the hand on my arm. Following it up to the man by my side. He was of a large build, dark features. I couldn't get a clear picture of him in the dim light and my eyes wouldn't focus on anything clearly. Although the face eluded me, I recognized the voice immediately.  
  
"Miss Connor? I'm Frank Donovan. You're safe now. A couple of my men are going to take you out of here. You need medical attention." I saw him raise his arm, apparently gesturing to his men. I threw my hand up, grabbing his extended arm. He looked down at me.  
  
"Vanessa. I promised her I wouldn't leave her. I can't let her die here," I strained to say through heavy gasps.  
  
"Don't worry about your friend. We'll get everyone out we can, I promise."  
  
His voice was fading and my head began to feel heavy. The last thing I felt was strain in my neck as my head fell back. 


	5. The Aftermath

I awoke to the sounds of people shuffling about the room. I could hear the shrill alarms of electronic equipment and the voice of a woman, seemingly screaming over a loudspeaker. I tried to open my eyes, but the blinding lights above me forced them shut again. I could hear voices close to me and from their conversation deduced they were talking about me. Their words however, unnerved me.  
  
"She's been through a lot," I heard a woman say. "She's lost a good amount of blood, she has two gunshot wounds, most of her body is covered in bruises, her back has been cut to shreds, three of her molars have been extracted leaving considerable damage, and there are signs that she was electrocuted. Quite honestly, this woman shouldn't be alive. I still can't believe she was able to take down four armed men in this condition."  
  
"Is she going to make it?" a man asked, ignoring the doctor's upsetting description. I recognized the voice – Frank Donovan.  
  
"I can't say really. I've done everything I can surgically. We'll continue monitoring her and administering pain killers and anti- inflammatory drugs, but really it's up to her now. It'll be rough if she does pull through, but if she made it through today's nightmare, I can't see why she won't live through the rest of it."  
  
"Thank you, doctor," Donovan replied. "My people and I will be staying around. She's still at risk, now more than ever. Make sure your nurses report to Agent Cross throughout their shifts."  
  
"Of course, Agent Donovan," the doctor replied. "I assure you, no one knows who she is. I've specified only certain nurses and technicians to look after her. There shouldn't be any problems."  
  
"I'm sure your people are trustworthy," Donovan countered, "but the people we're trying to protect her from could easily get past our even our security. We can't take any chances. The entire hospital is being monitored."  
  
I heard more people walk up near where I lay. I opened my eyes as much as I could force them open, but I could only make out four blurred images. I guessed that the tallest figure closest to me was Donovan. A new voice chimed into the conversation, one I had never heard.  
  
"The campus is clear. FBI took what was left of Carter's men in. Still no sign of Carter. We still haven't figured out how he managed to escape when none of his accomplices did."  
  
"Carter isn't simply a weapons supplier, Jake," Donovan corrected. "He's a survivalist. You don't get to where Carter is in life and sustain it unless you are able to survive in any kind of situation."  
  
"I don't understand why he did this in the first place," a new woman's voice confided. "If he wanted to get back at you for his wife's death, why didn't he just come to you? What did the college have to do with anything?"  
  
"Mercedes Carter graduated from there," another female voice announced as I heard the approach of a fifth person. "She was a pre-med. student there in the seventies. She never made it to medical school. Married Carter in her senior year and had to start moving around as he did. As far as we know, in the more than twenty years they were married, she never figured out his game. She lived her life in a bubble. Carter completely controlled the information that got to her and what she saw and experienced and never gave her a reason to doubt the situation."  
  
"But besides that connection, Monica, what else have we got?" Donovan inquired. "What else could have motivated him?"  
  
"Well, at this point Carter is off profile. He's mentally pushing his limit. I believe his killing and entrapping innocent people is his reflection upon your killing his 'innocent' wife. He wanted nothing more today than to kill innocent people, confront you directly, and then get away with it. Exactly as you 'got away' with killing Mercedes."  
  
"Why did he think we had someone inside?"  
  
"Extreme paranoia. I suspect as his plan to take the building progressed, so did his concern that there was an informant among his men. His confidence was lost and his imagination took over. He was probably seeing the face of a federal agent in every one of those hostages. Everything reminded him of the day Mercedes was killed and of how you had planted an operative in his team before. He claimed his intelligence 'officer' said that they had proof of an undercover agent inside. But I think whomever this guy was he was just playing along with Carter's twisted ideas. I mean if you play along and don't get the boss mad, then you stay alive longer."  
  
"Agent Donovan, I think you're team really should continue this somewhere else. Miss Connor seems to be coming to and hearing this could cause extreme stress," the doctor advised, unaware that I had been hearing everything and was already worried.  
  
Carter had escaped. He knew who I was. If he thought for a minute that I was a threat or if he planned on taking revenge for the loss of his men, I was in more danger than Donovan was even alluding to.  
  
"Okay, we'll continue this later. Jake, check with the local law enforcement and the Bureau, make sure we have everyone we can get looking for Carter. Monica, I want you to get back to headquarters and run through the building plans of the school with Cody. We have to find out how he got out of there. Also, dig up as much recent information on Carter as you can. Work up a new profile as best you can. He's been off of the radar for a while, but I think that if we look hard enough we can find his trail. I'll stay here with Alex. When Miss Connor wakes up, we're going to have to ask her some questions."  
  
I heard muffled acknowledgements and then the mass exodus of people from the room. I opened my eyes a little, able to make out the foggy image of Donovan by my side. I allowed my eyes to fall closed again, oddly comforted by the fact that this complete stranger was near me, protecting me.  
  
I awoke a few hours later, Donovan still by my side. He was sitting in the chair next to my bed, a bed tray pull up to him, typing away at a laptop. I took a moment to observe him up close for the first time. He was a handsome man, dark hair cut short with only flecks of gray. He had a short, dark mustache and goatee. Though the facial hair made him look older, I predicted he was in his mid-thirties. He seemed too stern and experienced for such a young age. I was wondering about his past when I became aware of the number of tubes that were connected to my body. I had one IV in my right arm, one in my left hand, and oxygen tubing draped across my face and wrapped around my ears. The feeling of the prongs from the oxygen tubing inside my nostrils made my eyes water. I felt suddenly as though it was smothering me rather than aiding my breathing. My first instinct was to reach up and pull it from my face, but the pounding pain in my left shoulder exceeded my desire to move. It took me a while to remember, but the visions of the past day slowly came trickling back. As the memories came, so did my consciousness of the pain. Whatever drugs they were giving me, they were not capable of erasing the severity of the damage. I involuntarily moaned at the onset of a sharp pain shooting down my back, alerting Donovan that I was awake.  
  
"Miss Connor, it's okay. Try not to move," Donovan said, pushing aside the tray and standing at my side. "You're in the hospital. You've been severely injured."  
  
"That's the understatement of the century," I thought to myself, not yet wanting to try to speak.  
  
"My name is Frank Donovan. We spoke over the radio while you were inside the school. My team and I were the one's that found you after you were shot in the shoulder. Do you remember any of that?" He was pushing for acknowledgement, but I still couldn't bring myself to respond. "Miss Connor, can you answer me?" he probed. His concern appeared to be genuine.  
  
"You called me Kate," were the only words I could force my lips to form. He looked at me for a second, taken back a little by my words.  
  
"Yes I did. I assumed it was your nickname. I thought it would have been more comforting. Was I wrong?"  
  
"No one has ever called me Kate."  
  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" he stumbled for words.  
  
"No. It's fine," I said, interrupting his apology, unable to say I preferred the name. I liked its simplicity, especially now that my life was full of complications. I closed my eyes for a while, allowing only a few scenes of the day to play through my mind. I could see the lab and all of the students lined up against the lab benches. The look of terror on their faces as detailed as if I was standing in front of them now. "The students. Did you get them out?"  
  
"Yes. Every student was safely removed from the building. Unfortunately, most of the instructors on your floor were killed."  
  
"I know. I saw them before they took me down…" I stopped, unable to say anymore, afraid to think about it. I could see the images in my mind, but putting them to words would have made them real again, and I couldn't do that just yet. The blood, the torture, they were all too much. Such pain and no one to stop it. And then I remembered Vanessa. I saw her face, pleading with me not to abandon her. "Vanessa," I said out loud, reflexively trying to sit up. I cried out with pain from the motion.  
  
"Miss Connor," Donovan exclaimed, putting his arm out to prevent me from sitting up anymore. "You mustn't try to move. Your injuries are too extensive. Please sit back," he insisted. I lowered myself again as he raised the top of the bed with the remote. The pain emanating from my back, caused by the pressure placed upon it from sitting up, was excruciating.  
  
"Vanessa. Vanessa Parkins. She was in the lab. They beat her up before they took me," I managed to explain in stuttered half- sentences.  
  
"Yes. I know about Miss Parkins. I'm sorry to have to tell you this Kate, but Miss Parkins was not alive when we got in. According to the doctors, she had massive internal injuries. There's no way she could have made it even if we had made it to her sooner," Donovan explained softly, afraid to say too much, but knowing instinctively that I wouldn't rest if I didn't hear it all.  
  
"No, she can't be," I said in disbelief.  
  
"I'm afraid so," he said. I felt the warmth of his hand upon my own.  
  
"No, you don't understand. I told her she wouldn't die in there. I promised her," I said getting more excited with each word.  
  
"I'm sorry Kate, but she didn't make it."  
  
"No!" I screamed, sitting straight up, trying to turn to get out of the bed. Pain shot through my body like another bullet, but I ignored it. "She has to be alive! I promised her! She's waiting for me!"  
  
Donovan moved to prevent my movements. "Kate, you can't get out, you're too hurt to be up," he ordered, trying to contain me.  
  
"No. I have to get out of here. She's still there. You left her there you bastard!" I screamed choking on the flood of tears that began flowing down my face. I was pounding on his chest, hitting harder as my own pain escalated. "You left her! She's not dead!" He gentle grabbed my arms, easily stopping my assault. He brought my arms down, not letting go of them. "I promised," I sobbed, letting my forehead fall to rest upon his chest. "It's my fault," I said softly, my strength expired. "It's my fault." The tears came full force as I broke down into heavy, loud sobs. I felt his hands let go of my arms and then his arms as they wrapped around me as I knelt on the bed, my weight against him.  
  
"It's not you're fault, Kate," he said softly, resting his cheek atop my head. "It was never your fault." 


	6. Awakening

"Miss Connor, your mother is here," the nurse announced as she entered the room.  
  
It had been a week since the incident. I had been placed in the isolation ward, a relatively miniscule portion of the hospital meant to house patients with tuberculosis or other infectious diseases. Here I could be guarded more easily since the ward was located far from daily traffic and other inpatient areas. It was also less conspicuous to have five or six federal agents outside my room here than anywhere else in the hospital. Over the past week, Donovan had continuously increased guard around my room, never telling me exactly why. But despite the heavy observation, I had spoken to my mother everyday by telephone, constantly trying to convince her that I was fine and would be home soon.  
  
Unfortunately the opposite was true. I had undergone extensive cosmetic surgery to cover the lashes across my back and to replace the lost teeth with implants. Even after a week, I was still in agony. My shoulder was healing well, but my arm was bandaged to my side to prevent movement. My face was still bruised and cut although the swelling had gone down. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw a monster. I was thoroughly convinced that I was murderer and deserved my torment. That was why my mother had not visited sooner. I had been told that they could arrange to have her escorted to the hospital two days after I had arrived, but I could not let her see me in the state I was in. So Donovan, according to my request, had told her that she could not visit me for security reasons. It was the only way I could keep her from coming. I could not have handled having to console her and myself at the same time. I knew it would be impossible for her to fathom what had happened to me and too hard on her emotions to see me in such pain. Fortunately now she could not see the bruises that covered my torso and legs underneath the blanket and hospital gown.  
  
But throughout all the insanity and pain, Frank had been there. He ran the entire show from my bedside, holding my hand when the pain got so bad I could hardly breath. When I awoke in the middle of the night, he was there to comfort me, letting me know what was going on without actually telling me anything. When I argued with the nurses about whether or not I should be resting, he was there to negotiate a compromise. The only time he left me was to check in with his team or go into the field for God only knows what purpose. It had been Frank that had made all of the arrangements for my mother, getting her a home nurse to help out while she recovered from a severe case of bronchitis. It was Frank who had found a mysterious way to pay for all the hospital bills and made up the cover story to tell my mother about the incident. He had explained to her that I had been in a car accident while driving to work the day Carter to the school hostage. I know now that he had also arranged for the appropriate legal documents to be processed as part of my cover should Carter come back for me.  
  
It was Frank who led my mother into my hospital room, gently guiding her by the arm through the doorway. I watched her face as she studied me. She was still weak from her illness, looking far older than fifty- six, and I could tell already that seeing her only daughter battered beyond recognition and lying in a hospital bed was wearing on her.  
  
"Mrs. Connor, would you like something to drink?" Frank asked softly as he guided my mother to a chair.  
  
"No thank you, I'm fine," she replied, not taking her concerned gaze off of me. "And please, call me Rebbecca. I think I'm still young enough to warrant using my first name." She looked away from me long enough to smile at Frank.  
  
Frank returned the gesture saying, "Very well, Rebbecca. I'll just be outside the door if you need me." He looked up at me, caught my gaze for a moment, nodded his head, and then, almost reluctantly, walked out of the room. I stared after him for a few minutes; not realizing my mother had watched the exchange.  
  
"He's a very handsome man," my mother finally said, breaking my thoughts and my stare.  
  
"What?" I said, staring at her in surprise for a moment before collecting myself. "Yes, I suppose he is."  
  
"And very kind, too."  
  
"Yes, he is."  
  
"And very willing to lie for you."  
  
The comment threw me off guard. I looked at her and then down at the blanket over my legs. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I'm not stupid Katherine. I know you weren't in any car wreck. You were in that school, weren't you? You don't have to protect me, I'm a grown woman, your mother. I'm the one that is supposed to protect you. What did they do to you?"  
  
"Mom, I don't want to talk about that right now. I am too tired to think about all of that. I just want to sit here and talk about normal stuff like the weather. Please, I just want a few more minutes of a normal life. I have a feeling that after this, everything's going to change for us. I don't want to think about it right now."  
  
"Alright, sweetheart," she said, laying her hand atop mine. "We'll talk about something else. But promise me someday you'll tell me."  
  
I smiled weakly. "Someday," I promised, not knowing if I really believed I would.  
  
We talked away the morning and afternoon. Gossiping about how long lost aunts, uncles, and cousins came out of the woodwork after the story about the school hit the news. We talked about how nice the nurses had been to me and made fun of the suits standing outside my door without letting them hear us. We even talked about the weather. It was about five o'clock that evening when Frank walked in and announced that it was time for my mother to leave, saying she couldn't stay the night because of security. I could tell my mother was silently wondering why I needed so much protection, I was even curious by that point as well. But she made no argument and began to say her good-byes as he walked out again, saying he'd wait to escort her to the car. Again, she caught my stare as I watched him leave.  
  
"You like him," she said quietly.  
  
"Of course," I replied, trying to cover my true feelings. "He saved my life, I think I'm obligated to like him," I smiled at her, trying to brush it off as a joke.  
  
"Katherine, it has nothing to do with his saving your life. You two have become quite attached. I bet he feels the same way for you."  
  
"Mom, nothing's going on. He doesn't feel anything for me. He's just doing his job," I argued, secretly hoping I was wrong.  
  
"He's doing more than his job. None of those other agents have offered to sit in vigil for you."  
  
"It's not a vigil. I'm a victim and a witness. With that guy Carter on the loose, I could be in danger."  
  
"Well, that may be true, sweetie, but Mr. Donovan doesn't appear to be just your average federal employee."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"I mean he's obviously someone of importance. You can tell by the way the other agents treat him. Someone in his position doesn't do the guard watch himself; he gets someone else to do it. He's taken on more than just his job for a reason."  
  
"Yes, he has. Carter did this because of him. He feels it's his responsibility."  
  
"Maybe. Maybe that's just an excuse now. Whatever his reasons, I can tell there's something else there. Something about you," she said, putting on her coat. Then she patted leg and smiled, "Whatever happens, don't let your heart control your head, but don't ignore your feelings either. Just let nature take its course cautiously." Then she turned and walked out the door.  
  
I spent the next few hours alone, pondering my mother's words, hoping secretly that she was right. It had never really occurred to me that Frank Donovan might have feelings for me as I admittedly, had for him. I kept trying to tell myself that I was just infatuated with the man who had saved my life – my protector. But there was something in the silence between us that made me feel that we said more with our hearts than our minds could ever comprehend. I was still contemplating this when I heard Franks voice in the hallway, conferring with one of the other agents. He stepped into the room a few minutes later, looking down at an open file folder in his hand, frowning. He looked up and smiled.  
  
"How's our favorite patient tonight?"  
  
"Alive," I answered half-heartedly. "I guess that ought to be worth something."  
  
"It's worth everything, Kate. Not many people could have done what you did in that school. If you hadn't cleared that tunnel for us, it may have taken up to a day for us to get in without endangering the hostages. More people would have died that didn't have to. I don't know one agent that would have been willing to do what you did for those students."  
  
"What if I didn't do it for the students?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"What if I only did it for me? I mean deep down I was only thinking about saving myself. So what if what I did saved them? I left them, I didn't stay with them and fight, I ran away."  
  
"Kate, you were singled out by Carter. There was absolutely no way you could have made it back up into the building and gotten those kids out. It took two hours for my teams to take the building after you got us in; you wouldn't have stood a chance against all of those men. Instead of helping those hostages, you would have only martyred yourself. Is that what you wish you'd have done? Gotten killed, lead to more deaths or allowed Carter to torture you more? No matter what you were thinking of when you escaped, you did the right thing, make no question about it."  
  
I stared down at the blanket, afraid to look at him, afraid to admit that he might be right. More afraid of the idea that killing those men could possibly be considered the right thing to do. I wanted desperately to change the subject. I looked over at the folder in his hand and motioned to it with a nod.  
  
"Carter?"  
  
He looked down at it and nodded. "It looks like he's disappeared. But I know him, there are loose ends to be tied up, he'll resurface eventually. In the mean time, we need to talk about you and your mother. Carter may come back to look for you. Of all the witnesses, your testimony would be the most damaging."  
  
"I don't understand. He claimed responsibility. A hundred people saw him. How could my testimony be any more or less damaging?"  
  
"He tortured you. You escaped regardless of the risk to your life. Your testimony would paint a very twisted and evil picture of Carter to any courtroom. Even a federal court would be persuaded by such a story. With your testimony, we could make sure he received the maximum sentence."  
  
"Are you saying that even if they did catch him, he could get off clean?"  
  
"No, not exactly. We just need that one clincher that would ensure his sentence. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to, but I guarantee that Carter won't care, he'll come back for you regardless."  
  
"So no matter what I do, Carter will still want me dead."  
  
"Yes. But we can protect you."  
  
"Protect me? How? For how long?"  
  
"Indefinitely, if you testify."  
  
"So you're saying that the only way I'll get the protection I need is if I testify in court. If I don't, I'm on my own."  
  
"Kate, I know it sounds harsh…"  
  
"Harsh!" I exclaimed, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "I think that's an understatement, don't you?"  
  
"Kate, the federal government isn't going to waste resources on someone that doesn't offer them anything in return. It's just the way it is. To get what you need you have to give something in return." He spoke so calmly and so matter-of-fact that I was even more enraged. I knew he was trying to help but my fear was blinding me and all I could think of was the world I was bringing my mother into and the sacrifices that were about to be made just so we could survive.  
  
"I don't know if I can do this," I said aloud, shaking my head.  
  
"Of course you can. I know it'll be hard, but you won't have to be in the room with Carter at any time. Most of your testimony will be done through video and voice recording."  
  
"That's not what I mean. I don't think I can live the way you're about to ask me to live."  
  
"How's that?" he asked, staring at me in concern with his head tilted and one eyebrow raised inquisitively.  
  
"Like I'm the fugitive. To go into hiding and live surrounded with men with guns, reporting to God only knows who. Carter took me hostage, he tortured me! He's the one that should be punished. I'm the victim here. Why do I have to give up my life? Why do I have to make the sacrifices?"  
  
"Kate, I'm not going to lie to you. You will be the one to make those sacrifices. You will have to live like a prisoner. But chances are, if we catch Carter, it won't be long."  
  
"And if you don't catch him? How long will the government protect me then? A few months? Years? When does my use run out?"  
  
"I'll protect you as long as you're threatened."  
  
"No, you said I'm only as good as my testimony. What's the statute of limitations on torture, huh?"  
  
"He's wanted for murder as well, there's no limit. Besides, I said I would protect you. Government or no, you will be safe, Kate. I promise you that," he said, placing a hand on my tear-stained cheek as he caught my eye, and held my gaze for a moment.  
  
My breath caught in my in my chest. No response came from me. All I could do was watch him watch me. Our locked eyes were awoken by the ring from his cell phone. Frank looked down at the lit panel on the phone, frowned, and nodding a pardon, stepped out of the room.  
  
I laid my head back on the pillow, finally catching my breath, my mind exploding with emotions. I was in no way prepared for what was happening. I had not even grasped the idea that I had escaped from Carter in the first place. I had been sitting in wait over the course of the week, waiting to wake up from this dream. Waiting to wake up into the nightmare that was the darkness and damnation of the broiler room. But I did not wake up. It was not a dream. Although I had escaped from Carter once, I was still running. Frank had made it subtly obvious that Carter had a score to settle with the only person that had escaped his torment. He had had a plan for Frank and it had not included my intervention. Regardless of the danger I may have to face because I beat Carter at his own game, I was now placed in an even more complicated situation.  
  
You can never imagine what it actually feels like to be told that you are about to lose every resemblance of a normal life. I was being forced to give up the life that I had created, just to survive. But not just that, I was bringing my family along for the ride. It is one thing to assume such a massive change by yourself, but to add to it the responsibility of another life was a different matter. How could I tell my mother that not only was her life in danger because I refused to be murdered, but in order to live she would have to give up every comfort she knew? I do not know if Frank ever really understood what he was asking me to do or is it had occurred to him, a person that moved around a lot and rarely made real friends, what a cataclysmic event this would be in my life.  
  
But for everything he was asking me to do to save my life, he was asking something even more frightening with the mere touch of my cheek. Frank Donovan was asking me to care for him. It was a request that need not have been made. For no matter what he felt for me, I already cared deeply for Frank. It was these feelings that scared me the most. It would make my life infinitely more complex, and later on more dangerous, to be with Frank, but it would also make both of out lives more fulfilled.  
  
I remained hospitalized for one more week, seeing both Frank and my mother daily. In that time, Frank had taken it upon himself to explain the situation as it was to my mother and tell her exactly what would have to happen to ensure our safety. Exactly what happened was that Frank had us moved into a safe house outside Chicago that, although it lacked some of the finer amenities like a working kitchen, had the best bullet-proof glass, security system, and round-the-clock live surveillance team money could buy. We would live off of the state, and massive amounts of take-out, until Carter was apprehended. Everyone talked like it would be a matter of days, but one look into Frank's eyes told me that something else was being planned. The secrecy and guilt I saw in his expression said to me that the impending danger ahead had less to do with Carter's plans than it did with the plans being made outside my hospital room.  
  
But nevertheless, I trusted Frank instinctively and knew that he would not allow anything to happen to neither my mother nor myself if he could help it.  
  
  
  
  
  
The letter ended abruptly. I turned every page over trying to figure out where the rest of the story was written. My first realization was that it was not written anywhere, my mother had inexplicably stopped almost in mid-thought. My second realization was that it was not a story at all. It was true. It was the story of my mother's life, and apparently, my father's as well.  
  
I folded the pages back together and tucked them back into the envelope. I looked up at the still water ahead of me, realizing that the sun was beginning to set and that unless I made my way back to the house soon, I would find myself stumbling along the shoreline in the dark of the country night. I walked the path back to the farmhouse slowly and deliberately, not wanting to go back at all. Part of me did not want to face my mother for her lies and secrets and the other part did not because of how angry I had been when I had left her earlier.  
  
I entered the house quietly, shutting the door behind me as silently as possible. All of the lights were on, but I could not hear the stirring of a single soul within the house itself. I stepped towards the staircase, making it only a few steps past the entrance to the study when I was alerted that I was not alone.  
  
"Michael Connor," Clarissa commanded, "Come here please." I turned to see her sitting on the window bench of the bay window across the room. I looked up towards the second story cautiously.  
  
"You needn't worry about Karen and the baby," she continued as though reading my mind. "I put the baby down an hour ago and poor Karen cried herself to sleep, as sick with worry as she was. How could you even conceive of storming out of here the way you did without a single word to your family?"  
  
"I was upset. Mom said some things I wasn't prepared for. I had to be alone," I tried to explain, knowing she would not allow me any excuses. And she would have been right – there were no proper excuses.  
  
"I know exactly what she said and why you were upset, but you can't treat your wife and child like that. Besides, they have a right to know what's going on."  
  
"Oh, you mean like I had a right to know? No one ever thought it would be in my best interest to let me in on all of this!"  
  
Clarissa threw her finger to her lips. "Now you keep your voice down. Your mother did what she thought was right for you."  
  
"That may well be Clarissa, but Jesus! Forty-two years! My entire life has been one big lie! It's like everything I've known never existed."  
  
"Never existed," she exclaimed, standing up and coming towards me in a hushed rage. "The love your mother and father gave you, the safe and happy home, the successful and fulfilling life you lead, those never existed? Listen to me, you may not have known the exact facts of your life, but I can assure you, it happened. Every laugh, every smile, every tear happened. They happened because that woman upstairs saw to it that they did. She made sure you had everything you ever needed and more. And most of the time at the expense of her own needs and desires. So don't you stand there like a spoiled child and claim that you've somehow been jilted in your life because your mother spared you the strange and frightening details of her life. She's been through hell in her time and you have no right to sit in judgement of a woman who has not only saved lives but created a damn fine good one for you as well."  
  
I stared at her for a moment, partly from the shock of hearing her talk to me like a child and the other part from realizing that she was right. I was acting like spoiled child. I never imagined how hard it must have been for my mother to live a life as her own. There was something else I had not thought of yet. I had not thought of Frank Donovan as my father. Clarissa words brought home that idea hard.  
  
"Clarissa," I began cautiously, too tired to argue, "I just need to know the truth. Can't you see that? Yes, I know Karen needs to know as well, but how can I expect her to be understanding when I can'' explain what's wrong? I didn't mean to worry anyone. I just needed a little time. And now I need to talk to my mother. Is she up?"  
  
"She's awake. She's been waiting for you. She should be resting, but as usual, you're the only thing she's worried about right now. You'd better go up," she said, waving her hand towards the stairs as she turned and walked back into the study.  
  
"Clarissa, thank you for everything you've done for her."  
  
I saw the back of her head move as she nodded her acceptance and then I turned and made my way up the stairs to my mother's room.  
  
The bedside table lamp and the desk lamp were on but their light was dim and the room almost seemed to glow, as if lit by candles. My mother was sitting in the white wicker rocking chair in the far corner of the room, turned towards the window, watching the moon reflect in the water below. Her auburn hair, though faded with time, had still to see a gray hair, and was pulled back and held at the base of her head with a pair of oriental sticks that appeared to be made of jade. The amber glow of the room made her look less pale but I could still see the longing in her eyes. Her hands were lying on her lap, gently draped across her black silk robe with its ornate red and green designs. Her long slender fingers, that I had once watched dance across the keys of the antique baby grand piano downstairs, were now thin and drawn, the wrinkles along her knuckles and near her wrists the only real signs of her true age.  
  
"I suppose you've come for the rest of the letter," she spoke suddenly; the lack of emotion startled me. "It's on the desk. It was too much to fit in the envelope and I forgot. Dying people do that. You're free to take it and run again."  
  
"Kit…Mom, I don't want to read the rest of the letter."  
  
"What do you mean?" she looked at me inquisitively.  
  
"I want you to tell me. I won't run away again, I swear. I need to hear you say it. Please."  
  
She quickly shifted her gaze down to her hands and then back to the window.  
  
"Mom, please. You want me to know and I want to hear it now."  
  
"Don't ask me to do this, Michael," my mother pleaded weakly. "The letter was hard enough. I don't know if I have the strength to relive it again."  
  
"You want to tell me, so tell me. It can't hurt any worse than trying to keep it all a secret. What happened when you got out of the hospital? When you got to the safe house?" I asked as I sat down on the ledge of the window she was looking out of.  
  
She did not say anything for a while. She only stared ahead, shaking her head softly, trying to brush away my request. I looked away for a moment, contemplating whether I should give up and read the rest of the letter or not. As I was about to retrieve the letter, I heard her begin to speak.  
  
"We knew Carter may try and get to me. But we never thought he may have already done it." 


	7. An Uncertain Beginning

The day I left the hospital it was dark and rainy - a typical fall day. The wind was cold and blowing hard, bending the trees almost to their breaking point. The entire setting would later feel ominous when compared to later events, but for the moment, all I thought about was leaving the sterile environment of the hospital. I tried not to think of the place where they were taking me. I knew that it was on the outskirts of Chicago and that most of my belongings and my mother were waiting for me. Frank had informed me before we left that all the furnishings of our house had been moved to storage and our pets, a mutt named Sydney, a parrot named Jazz, as well as our fish tank, had been taken in by one of the agents for the time being. It surprised me to realize that I had not even thought of them once since the incident. I tried to tell myself that I had more pressing issues to worry about, but part of me hurt a little at forgetting them. But it was of no matter now, they were safe and well cared for in our absence and we had larger concerns looming around every corner. Frank also said, to my infinite surprise, that our house was being sold and that after everything was over, we would have to move. So there it was. I had now been stripped of my safety, security, friends, family, pets, and now my home. Carter had managed to take away everything I had ever wanted and worked for. It was almost amusing to think that he had done all of this to me and it was Frank that he had originally wanted to torture. I could not shake the feeling that, although I was attracted and indebted to Frank, this was all somehow partly his fault. Part of me wanted him to take on the responsibility of protecting my mother and myself because I wanted him close and the other part because I felt it was his duty after what his actions had caused to happen to us. But rationality caused me to see that what he had done was an accident and what was going on had very little to do with Frank and more to do with Carter's inability to deal with reality. But regardless of fault, my life was now changed forever. As we pulled up in front of the house that would be my home for a while, I was struck but it's appearance. It was a dilapidated, two-story house with cracked and warped wooden siding that was painted a hideous brown with white accents that were peeling and falling from the wood. The front porch was falling in on one side and the sidewalk up from the street was so old it was essentially a pile of gravel. The little strips of grass along the front and down the sides of the house were in need of mowing and the few hedges on the ends of the porch had grown up and covered the front windows. What windows I could see though were brand new. Frank, seeing the expression on my face as we arrived, whispered that the house was left in this condition on purpose and that all of the windows were bulletproof, as were the doors and the whole house was wired with a top-of-the-line security system. The other houses on the street looked as if they were in the same condition, save for the windows and doors, and I was informed that the two on either side of the safe house as well as the three across the street were abandoned. This explained the choice of building. If something were to happen here, there would be less of a chance of a civilian being injured. I guessed in another time this information would have been comforting, but as I stared down the dark street with it's abandoned cars and dead street lamps, the isolation was frightening. I waited in the car as Frank and the two agents in the front seat got out and stood in front of my door. As I emerged from the vehicle, they formed a human shield around me as they escorted me into the house. My legs, still weak from a month in a hospital bed, shook as I climbed the few steps up to the porch. The boards beneath each foot cracked and cried out so much with each step towards the door that I stopped a few times, afraid the entire structure would crumble underneath my weight alone. Frank kept a firm but comforting hand on the small of my back as he led me inside for the first time. A man in his early thirties opened the door. He stood to the side as we entered, watching the street behind us. A quick glance revealed that the first floor was separated into a living and dining room and from what I could see through a door in the back, a small kitchen. A narrow staircase arose to the right of the room along the outside wall directly across from the front door. The paint and wallpaper that still miraculously clung to the walls was in possibly worse shape than the outside of the house. The living room was strung with several folding tables, each holding enough equipment to launch a space probe. Buried in the center of the room was an old floral patterned couch and beat up coffee table. This table as well as the dining room table in the back of the room, was covered in large binders, file folders, and heaps of papers. Every other empty space, no matter the size, was filled with takeout food containers that once held everything from Chinese noodles to fried chicken. The hardwood floors were covered in electrical wires and computer cases. For all the mess, there were relatively few people in the room. A young man with a headset on sat at the longest table on the left side of the room. I could not make out what he was doing, but he was thoroughly engaged in what he saw on the computer screen before him. From what I could see of him, he looked like the stereotypical computer geek. He was a little thin and pale, with curly brown hair, and was wearing a gray long-sleeved T-shirt and black cargo pants, both of which were a little too large for him. There were two women standing over the dining room table. One was a young black woman, with long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing jeans and a short black leather jacket, the other had pale features and short reddish-brown hair, and was wearing a black pantsuit with a blue button-down shirt underneath. The man who had opened the door for us stepped in front of me for a second to move some boxes out of the entranceway. He was younger than the rest, black hair, dark eyes, and handsome Latino features. With one glance into those eyes you saw someone who had seen more than one would guess for someone his age. With a second glance, you could see the eagerness and uncertainty of youth still clinging on to existence. "Kate, I'd like you to meet my team," Frank announced as we stepped further into the room. "Over at the computer is Cody, he's in charge of communications." Cody nodded sideways in recognition, never taking his eyes off the screen. "In the back we have Monica and Alex. Monica does the psychological analysis of suspects, gets us inside their heads." Monica, the young woman in the leather jacket, nodded businesslike, a slight smile crossing her face briefly. The other woman looked up and smiled broadly but briefly before going back to the files in front of her. "And Alex handles most of the actual 'field work' mainly, as does Jake." The young man next to us stepped forward to shake my hand quickly. "We each have our designated duties but can step in for one another if necessary." He turned to the two agents who had driven us from the hospital. "You've met agents Hill and Turnquist. They're on loan from the Bureau's field office. They'll be handling surveillance, keeping watch outside." The two men stood stone still during the introductions and did not move off until Frank excused them to their posts. The agent Frank had identified as Alex made her way across the room after a few seconds. "Miss Connor," she began in a friendly yet business-like manner, " your mother has already turned in for the night. We weren't completely sure you would be able to leave the hospital today so I managed to talk her into going to bed early. There's really only so much cleaning and cooking a person can do in a situation like this. Plus the fact that she's so nervous here, I thought she could use the extra rest." "Yeah," I said thoughtfully, " that sounds like my mother." A smile crossed Alex's face briefly before she offered me something to eat. I declined, thinking privately that the slimy substance in the Chinese takeout box that had just been presented to me looked more dangerous than the hospital food. "If you'd like Kate," Frank started, turning my attention towards the stairs, "I'll show you to your room." I nodded to Alex, who turned and walked back to the stacks of papers on the dining room table, and then slowly began to ascend the stairs to the bedrooms. As we came to the top of the stairs, I could see only four doors. Frank noted that the two that were shut were the entrance to the attic and my mother's room. The other two, doors opened and revealing little more than a small, twin-sized bed and a floor lamp in each, were at the very top of the stairs where one could see almost see straight into them from the first floor. Frank stepped into one of the rooms and sat my brown leather knapsack onto the bed. "Your personal belongings that we brought from your house are in the boxes in the closet. We didn't bring much, just some of your clothes, your paperwork, laptop, discs, things like that. If there's anything else you need I'm sure we could have it retrieved from storage in the morning." "I'm sure everything's fine," I said uneasily, suddenly uncomfortable about being alone with a man I had just recently been kissing. I looked around the room, cringing inwardly at the water-stained ceiling, mint green paint on the walls, and the tattered bed sheet strung up over the window for a makeshift curtain. The wooden floor was scratched and scuffed and the knob on the door was falling off. Frank watched uneasily as I surveyed the room and then with a nod, crept quietly out the door. After Frank left the room, I began pulling boxes from the closet. There were six file boxes tucked in the back under what clothes were hanging from a old pipe that had been jammed between the walls of the closet, masquerading as a clothes rod. The first box contained my laptop, Palm Pilot, cell phone, CDs, and floppy discs. Each item now had a shiny metallic sticker on the back or bottom, which I assumed meant it had been searched and secured by the agents. A quick rummage through the rest of the boxes revealed little more than some of my research files, old textbooks, and my more intimate apparel, due to the lack of a chest-of- drawers, or any other kind of actual furniture. I was surprised and a little scared when I noticed that my financial records had not been packed. I could only guess that the fact that they had been omitted meant that I would no longer need them and that meant Frank was right, my life as I knew it was over. For the time being I set aside that idea and sat down on the bed, my back against the wall and my computer in my lap. I waited for the familiar chime signaling the star-up after I pushed the power button and embraced the cool glow of the liquid crystal screen as it lit up the darker corners of the room. I had the cursor looming over the file of my most recent research paper when I felt someone approach. It was Frank. He was carrying a tray of food and was waiting, in a moment of seeming uncertainty uncharacteristic of his nature, for me to bid him enter. "Is it all right if I come in," he asked cautiously. "Of course, don't be silly," I said as I absent-mindedly double- clicked on the file, seeing it begin to opened out of the corner of my eye as I sat the computer to the side and threw my legs over the side of the bed. "Cody, Alex, and Monica have gone back to headquarters. Jake and I will stay here tonight. Turnquist and Hill are on lookout in a car across the street," he went through the roll call as he sat the tray on the bed near me. He scarcely made eye contact as he opened a brown paper sack and handed me a sandwich. I could sense his confusion and caution as he poured hot tea from a Thermos into two paper coffee cups. He had been tense and unsure ever since the kiss we had shared in the hospital room. I knew it must have been a conflict for him to have to deal with his feelings for me while he protected me. I could tell by the way that he addressed me in front of others that his job would be all the more simple if I were just another witness. I understood his feelings because I knew for myself that my feelings would be simpler if he were just another agent and I was not worrying about his as much as my mother or myself. "I apologize for the food," he said, not making eye contact as he handed me one of the cups of tea. "It was the best I could find around here." "It's fine, thank you," I said as I studied his stern expression as he brought his cup to his lips. He stood uncomfortably, staring down at the tray on the bed. "You know you could sit down," I ventured cautiously. "I'm fine. I should get back downstairs," he barely glanced at me as he said the words. "Oh," I said, unable to think of anything that might entice him to stay. "Well, I wouldn't want to get in the way of your work." "You are my work. That's the problem."  
  
"Oh, so now I'm a problem. I'm so sorry to inconvenience you, Mr. Donovan." "Kate, that's not what I meant." "Isn't it?" I exclaimed, standing to face him. I know now that I wanted to pick a fight with him. I wanted to vent the anger I felt towards Carter and his goons and the entire situation I was in right then. But he would not allow me to lose myself to the anger. "Kate," he said, calmly putting his hands on my shoulders, "we're in the middle of a very real and very dangerous case here. My primary responsibility is to keep you safe, as a victim, as a witness, but more importantly, as someone I have come to care a great deal about. My emotions, however, should not have a part in all of this. I should be handling this as though it was any other case - no personal attachments or agendas. But that is a convenience I don't have anymore. So the only way for me to assure your safety is to remain as detached as I can for as long as I can so that I can react and plan in a manner that is more suited to your safety than your feelings. Do you understand?" "I understand," I said as my head dropped. I realized I was being stubborn and childish but a part of me would have preferred to ignore the threats around me, the reality of it all was too overwhelming. "I understand," I repeated softly, my eyes searching the floor, "It's just that.I just want.I don't know.I don't know anything anymore." I brought my hands up to my eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but I instead rested my head on Frank's chest and the opened the flood gates. As I sobbed violently, I felt his arms encircle my torso and I fell into his embrace. Time disappeared momentarily as the compounding stress of the days past was released at last. Finally too tired to continue weeping I lifted my head, wiping what tears I could from my face, and looked up into Frank's eyes. I had searched his eyes so many times before and every time I had convinced myself that all I could see was stone cold resilience. I had never thought his emotions could show. But in this one instance I saw in his eyes empathy and understanding that I would never see in anyone else's eyes ever again no matter how hard I looked. "Kate," he spoke softly, "I know none of this makes sense. I know it's all too much to take in right now. But I promise you, when this is over, it will be the last time you ever feel this much pain, I'll see to it personally. But for now, I need you to be strong, as strong as were for me in those tunnels. Maybe even stronger." I nodded, wanting to say something, but before I could he lowered his head and laid his lips gently on my own. I was surprised but my surprise soon disappeared and I surrendered for one brief second. Allowing myself to feel every point of contact between my body and his. I slipped my arms around his waist and pressed my body as close to his as I could as the kiss deepened and his hands ran across my back, his fingertips brushing across the sliver of skin exposed along the hem of my tee-shirt. I in turn pressed my palms into his back, memorizing the sensation of his muscles under the tightness of his black sweater. As the tension between us built, we each suddenly stopped and stepped back a little from each other, simultaneously realizing that this was neither the time nor place for such distractions. Breathless, we stared at each other, our hands only slightly touching. "I really should get back downstairs," he said, a quickly disappeared through the door. 


	8. Reacquainted

I stared after Frank for a moment. I was too confused to question what had just happened but I felt relieved somehow that I had not been imagining the entire thing, that he really had feelings for me as I did for him. I turned back towards the bed and sat down, meaning to pick up my laptop that I had previously sat aside. It took me a moment to realize that there was a screensaver running on the desktop. I had never installed a screensaver on this computer; it never sat idle when I was using it. The image on the screen was the typical "Flying Through Space" star field that one could install on just about any computer or operating system. I thought for a second that the agents who had obviously gone through my belongings had installed some sort of security screen after scanning my files, but then the screen began flashing a slide show. I stared at the screen in disbelief as photographs of the college, the science hall, the tunnels, my house, my mother, Vanessa and Peter, and finally Frank, appeared and disappeared in random order. Then I saw a picture of myself. I was walking into the science hall. It looked like it could have been a few days before Carter attacked. I was looking directly at the camera but I knew that I had never seen it. I realized I was looking at surveillance photos. Someone had apparently been following those of us who had been working in the building. But it was what materialized next that sent shockwaves of fear through every vessel in my body. First it was a picture of the agents who had stood guard outside my room in the hospital, then the door to my room, then a series of pictures of myself lying in the hospital bed asleep. Some were so close I imagined that the photographer and I could have touched noses. Someone had walked straight into my room in the middle of the night and taken pictures of me. Someone had been able to walk right past the agents outside without raising a single eyebrow. I stared at the screen in horrified shock as the final picture appeared on the screen and froze. It was Frank walking into the hospital room. The picture was taken from the other side of the bed form the door. Frank had seen whoever was standing behind the lens and his presence had been ignored. Whoever it was, they were working on the inside for Carter obviously. I never thought he could get this close to me. But as the image burned into my retinas the screen changed one last time. It was a scrolling marquee with red letters against a black background. The message was a simply stated threat: "Did you think you had gotten rid of me? You took something from me that day Miss Connor. You took many things. It appears that you and Mr. Donovan have something in common. He took something from me long ago and it's time I returned the favor. I lost the one thing I loved most, and now so will Frank Donovan." I could not move for the longest time. The message ran across the screen repeatedly but I could not bring myself to read it again. I had to tell Frank. I had to get up and get downstairs. But my legs were useless and the reality to terrifying. I could feel my breathing escalate, my heart charging my eardrums, feeling as though it were beating the life out of me. I sprang from the bed, slamming the laptop shut at the same time, startling myself with the suddenness of my actions. I stepped back from the bed, not once taking my eyes off of the computer. I crossed my arms in front of me as an icy chill glazed over my limbs. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, but I could do neither. I backed towards the door watching the computer as though it might spring to life and chase me down. I stepped into the hall and turned to look down into the living room below. "Frank," I offered meekly, but he did not hear me. "Frank!" I pushed past my fear long enough to yell this time. "What is it Kate?" he asked as he appeared at the foot of the stairs about to make his way up. "My computer," I stammered, "Someone's done something to it." "My agents had it checked out before they brought it here, I'm sure everything is there," he explained calmly. But then I caught his stare and I knew he could see the fear in my eyes. "Kate, what is it?" I shook my head slowly. "No, Frank. It wasn't them. Carter. There's a message from Carter." "On your computer? That can't be," he remained at the bottom of the stairs, obviously as confused and nervous as I was, but barely showing it. "No. It is him. There are pictures. Pictures of everyone. They were in the hospital room Frank. You saw them. There was a picture of you as you came in to check on me. It's someone you know. Someone left to watch over me." The look in his eyes turned grave as he turned towards Jake who had left his place at one of the computers in the living room to hear what I was saying. They stared at each other in silence and I could tell that even they were unsure as to what to do next. "Jake, call Cody. Get everyone back here. Get us some backup, we have to leave here tonight. Kate, wake you mother, get her ready to leave now," his voice was commanding, but riddled with concern. I turned towards the room my mother was sleeping in and I opened the door I could here Frank talking into his radio. He was trying to reach the two agents sent to watch the street. But neither Turnquist not Hill was responding. I stopped and looked over the railing as I opened the bedroom door. Frank was pacing back and forth in front of the window, pulling back curtains just enough to see up each side of the street trying to make out their vehicle. "Where the hell are they? Turnquist? Hill? Come in," he demanded, still peering out from behind the curtains. "Jake are communications down?" "No. Not as far as I can tell. They're just not answering," the young man answer quickly, flipping madly through switches and buttons on every computer and monitor in the room. "What about the perimeter? Anything on the cameras or alarms?" "No, nothing." "Well find out what's going on," he said as he turned around. He saw me watching from the stairs and yelled out, "Kate, your mother, now!" I jumped a little at his harshness, but I ignored it. I pulled myself back from the railing and as I did, the house went dark. I stopped as the darkness draped itself around me with a rapidity that took my breath away. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a faint mist of light coming in the bedroom window from where I had opened my mother's door just slightly. I looked back towards the downstairs, but I could see nothing but the faint lights of equipment from battery backups and a couple of small monitors. I could hear Frank and Jake talking. I knew that their communications were down as were the surveillance cameras and perimeter alarms. Confused I called out to Frank. From his response, I knew he was still by the window near the stairs. "Kate, get your mother up, get in a corner of the room on the floor and stay put." I turned back towards the bedroom and reached out for the door. Focusing on the light from the room I found the door and pushed it open. I slowly made my way into the room and knelt beside the head of the bed when I finally reached it. "Mom," I said softly, not wanting to startle her too soon. "Mom, wake up." "Katherine? You're here. They should have told me." "Mom, you have to get up and get dressed. We have to hurry." "What do you mean? What's going on? Turn the lights on." "I can't Mom. The electricity has been cut. Hurry, we have to hide." "Hide from what? Where's Frank?" I could here the fear in her voice. She was more confused than I was and unable to understand the situation we had been thrust into. "Frank's downstairs trying to make sure everything's okay. Come on, get up, I have to get you away from the windows," I said as I helped her from the bed. We felt our way to an inside corner where the bed was between the window and us and the door was at the other end of the wall. I had my mother lay down on her side against the wall and I sat down next to her, trying to watch the door through the darkness. I could hear clambering downstairs and would occasionally hear Frank and Jake speaking to one another. After about ten minutes I heard what was to be the start of my next nightmare. Gunfire. Bullets were being sprayed into the living room, the explosion of glass from the windows echoing up the stairs. Instinctively I bent down over my mother and could feel her shaking underneath me. As suddenly as it started the firing stopped. There was a deathly silence from downstairs that frightened me more than the gunfire. I left my mother in the corner and edged my way to the door. I tried to look through the darkness but I could see nothing. I could hear someone moving around downstairs but the disruption was slight and I was uncertain in my state of panic as to its whereabouts. I was turning back towards my mother when something grasped my arm hard and threw me to the floor. The force of the blow knocked the air out of me momentarily but that concern was quickly replaced by another, as the glass in the bedroom window was shattered by another barrage of bullets. I could feel the pressure of another body on top of my own but I did not know who it was until the firing stopped again and they spoke. "Jake, get Mrs. Connor downstairs first, we'll follow," Frank whispered from out of the darkness. "On it," I heard the other agent say and then the shuffle of feet in the dark and a glimpse of a shadow low on the wall. "Kate, are you alright?" "I'm fine," I stammered, still struggling to catch my breath. "We need to move now. I need you to follow me downstairs. We'll go out the back." "But they're out there. How do we get past them?" "You let us worry about that. But we have to get out of here before they get in." I felt him tug at my arm and I sat up. I could not see him but I knew he was already making his way out of the room. I followed as close as I could, almost on hands and knees, following only the sound of Frank's breathing and the faint heat I could feel from his body. We made it down the stairs and paused. Frank called out to Jake softly and he replied, saying that they had made it to the back door in the kitchen. I then felt Frank reach back and tap my knee, a signal it was time to do the same. We weaved our way through the menagerie of furniture in the living room and then stopped again, crouching behind the end of the couch. Frank gave Jake the go ahead to try and make an escape through the back. I attempted to protest, thinking there should be someone there to cover them, but Frank stopped me, again telling me not to worry about it. I heard the back door open with a slight creak but then nothing. At least five minutes past without incident. Scared and confused I placed my hand out and finding Frank's arm gave it a squeeze of concern. "It's okay," he said softly and plainly, "They made it." I heard him stand and did the same. He whispered that we needed to make our way to the back door quickly and instructed me to go ahead of him so he could cover me if they opened fire again. I nodded at his instructions knowing he could not see it, but still too frightened to speak. I turned toward the kitchen and could feel his presence behind me as we started to move, but before we could make it out of the dining area a sudden bright light flooded the room. Startled, both Frank and myself threw our arms up against the explosive illumination. After a second we could tell the light was coming in from the front of the house and turned to look out the front windows. The glass was completed obliterated and the curtains ripped to shreds. The light prevented us from making anything out beyond the window but a voice soon bellowed out from a loudspeaker from the street. "Mr. Donovan, how nice to see you again. Miss Connor, always a pleasure. It seems we have ourselves a little situation here. Here you are, totally unprotected and here I am, armed to the teeth. Now I'm not usually one for quick exits, as Miss Connor can tell you, I tend to aim for the dramatic in my punishments. But no matter how anti-climatic it may be, I think just getting rid of you both in one blow would be for the best. Don't you think? I mean really, this thing has gone on for long enough. I think you would agree that we should just bring this all to a head and finish it. Oh, and just so you know, your agent and Mrs. Connor have already made it off of the premises. I really didn't have any quarrel with them and well, my men couldn't get a good sight on them for all the trees and the derelict garage in the back. But I suppose that is why you chose the place, isn't it? Well, time is of the essence, so I will make my exit and bid you both adieu." Then there was silence again and we stood stone still waiting for what was to happen next. We could hear the voices of the men outside but they were too faint to make out. Then we heard several cars start up and pull away. Then just before the floodlight went out we saw it. A small black object was tossed into the front window. I had know idea what it was, but as the darkness fell quickly, Frank yelled for me to make a run for it as he grabbed my arm again and pulled me towards the back. We burst from the back door and with Frank still pulling me on, tripped down the back stairs. I could hardly make out the sidewalk leading from the house but a sweep of headlights from a backstreet illuminated the back fence line enough for me to see the large trees protruding from the ground and looming above us. We made it only a dozen or so yards from the house, just to the side of the dilapidated garage, when the apparent explosive detonated. The force of the blast knocked us another three yards before we hit the ground. The surge of heat expelled from the house rolled up my back as fell face first into the dirt and grass. I felt Frank throw himself on top of me as debris began to rain down around us. Flaming pieces of wood hit and lodged themselves into the ground only inches from my head. Soon the ricochet from the explosion settled and we sat up and looked back at the house. Leaning back on my arms I squinted against the bright flames that began to consume what was left of the deflated structure. The fire ate away at the dry wood quickly and soon a corner of the roof began to collapse in on itself. At this, Frank directed me to stand and we moved back further, watching as the image burned not only before us but into our memory not only as another close call, but as a very real warning of our possible demise. 


	9. A Change of Seasons

Author's Note: I just want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed my story so far. I had a huge case of writer's block and wasn't sure I was going to finish the story until I went back recently and read all of the reviews. I really appreciate all of your kind words, I hope you know how wonderful it feels to know people have read your worked and liked it enough to ask for more. You guys were all the motivation I needed to continue. So for now, I leave you with just little bit more, but don't worry, I'll have more ready in a day or so. Thanks Again! - Angie  
  
"Considering that she is still recovering from her previous incident, she doing pretty well," I could hear the doctor tell Frank. "She has a lot of bruising and her ribs may be fractured again, but other than that, she's in good shape. She needs to rest though. That much is certain. The amount of emotional and physical abuse she has undergone lately is enormous. No one should have to endure all this. I surprised she's still able to go one with this." He continued to speak of my condition for a while longer, but I stopped listening. I knew I was in a horrible state and I knew that I should not have been holding up as well as I was, but I felt that I could not stop now. Carter was still out there and I was still alive. That meant nothing had changed. Everything was as it was before the explosion. As for that, Frank was still marching around trying to figure out how it had happened. From what I overheard, Agent Hill's body had been found in the surveillance car about two blocks from the safehouse. Agent Turnquist had still to be found and it was assumed that he was Carter's inside man. My mother was moved to another safehouse and it was determined that since she was obviously not a target at the moment that she should be kept away from the threat. Unfortunately the threat was myself. I never thought a day would come that being of my acquaintance would put someone's life in danger. It bothered me that I was not told where she was sent, but Frank assured me that it was for security purposes. This time, he said, he sent only his own people to look after her. Apparently the two women I had met the previous night in the safehouse. The thought of watching that place burn to the ground and how close we had come to death was unsettling to say the least. I was sitting in the doctor's office on the second floor of the hospital. I let my eyes wander over the many certificates on the walls and bookshelves and I then stepped over to the window. Below was a small fleet of government vehicles waiting to escort us to yet another "safe place." The days of fall were turning slowly towards days of winter and I could almost see the cutting chill in the air. I turned from the window as I heard the office door open and watched the doctor and Frank enter. The doctor feigned a meek smile and nod in my direction, but Frank's expression caught me off guard. He had a scowl marked across his face and did not once look in my direction. His pensiveness I understood, but there was something more immediately pressing in his demeanor that worried me. Eventually he looked up and smiled softly when he saw my concern; secretly hoping I'm sure that he could dissolve my own alarm. But this tactic did not work. I already knew what was at stake. Carter meant to rid the world of us both now and he would not stop until he either succeeded or was killed himself. I admit that I held out all of my hope that the latter would be the case. After the doctor had given me the medication I required and explained my health situation to me yet again, I was hurried down to one of the waiting cars. A small army of agents and police were on hand for escort off the premises. But there was one thing that had changed; Frank was being escorted as much as I was. He was not the one calling all of the shots on this move. He was herded into the center of the mass of people along with myself and showed his disconcertion openly. He was not used to being the one that needed the protecting. But it all made sense. Carter had infiltrated a government operation. No matter of how little importance my situation was to the higher-ups in the Bureau, their pride had been attacked that night and they were looking to prevent it from happening again. Also, Carter had targeted and only nearly missed taking down one of the top agents in his field. Frank Donovan was on many a criminal's list for revenge, but none had gotten this close with such little fanfare. It was becoming evident that Carter was becoming less a vengeful husband and gunrunner, and more the head of an apparently far- reaching crime syndicate. His actions had been, over the years, of such little news that it was never conceived that he was capable of leading such a large operation. But his ability to take over the school and worm his way into the safehouse situation proved beyond a doubt that he had more power and posed more of a threat than anyone could ever have imagined. As we neared the car, I noticed a man standing in front of the door, looking straight at Frank. He was an older gentleman, wearing a gray suit and black raincoat. His hair was combed exact and his stance was official and practiced. This was a man that prided himself on looking intimidating. From the look on Frank's face I could tell that he recognized him. He did not appear surprised by this man's presence, but he still held his concerned scowl. As we reached the car, the man greeted Frank pleasantly but formally. "Hello Frank," he began, "Good to see you again. Sorry it has to be under these circumstances." Frank nodded, "Good to see you Tom. I was glad to hear that you would be heading up the search." "Yeah," the man said nodding, "I know it's strange for you considering your.background, but the bosses thought it would be best if someone else was watching your back for a change." "I can't imagine anyone else could do the job better. Thanks for doing it." "Hey, how could I not. You saved my neck plenty of times. Besides, they're right you know. You shouldn't have to handle all of this on your own. You can't possibly be objective enough right now to deal with this man." Frank tensed a little at this revelation, but quickly composed himself, knowing full well that the man was right. Coming out of his private thoughts Frank looked at me and shook off his uncertainties. "Tom, let me introduce you to Miss Connor," he said gesturing towards me. "Kate, this is Tom Borders with the FBI." Mr. Borders nodded to me and stepped forward to receive my hand. "It's a pleasure Miss Connor. I assure you that you are in the safest company you shall ever know. My men and I will look to your and Mr. Donovan's every need, I promise." I noticed a slight British accent in his speech and with his gentile manner I could not help but warm to him immediately. Mr. Borders opened the back door of the black SUV for Frank and myself and informed us that he would be in the lead car for the duration of the trip and he expected no stops or delays in our travel. He did not mention where we would be going, I assume for security reasons, as was with every bit of information that was withheld from me. Frank and I climbed into the car and settled in for the mysterious journey. The car was warm but I shivered repeatedly, my hands as cold as ice, more from nerves than temperature. Noticing this, Frank reached over and placed his hand on top of my own in my lap. I stared at this picture for a moment, uncertain as to its meaning, until I looked up into his eyes. I could see his despair flicker in and out of his gaze, fighting against his composure for recognition. I could tell he was uneasy about letting someone else handle the situation, that he had to be looked after, and mostly that he could not be the one to assure me as to my safety. Everything was completely out of his hands for the time being and he was going to have to deal with it. Although it was obvious that this was not something that Frank Donovan was used to having to deal with. We drove for about an hour before I felt myself start to drift off into sleep. I tried to stop myself, telling myself I had to stay alert, but the warmth of the vehicle and the security I felt from having Frank so close to me, pushed me to rest and eventually I lost my fight and fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke I found that I was resting my head on Frank's shoulder and that he had both of his arms wrapped around me and was sitting at an angle on the seat so that I could rest completely against him. I looked up slowly, thinking I would find him asleep, but soon found that he was wide- awake and concentrating on the scene outside the window. I sat for a second watching him when I realized that I could feel the gentle pressure as he softly rubbed my arm with his thumb absentmindedly. I took a deep breath; taking in his aroma that almost smelled of pine yet was spicy in its undertones. I closed my eyes again, knowing this moment would be one of few for now and all too fleeting. I felt him become aware that I had awoken and looked up to catch his gaze. He smiled sweetly, brushing away his previous thoughts that looked to be so worrisome, and with one gloved hand gently brushed away the strands of hair that had fallen into my face as I slept. As his fingers combed the strands back and then traces their way to my cheek I reached up with my own hand and pressed my cheek into his palm, slightly nuzzling the leather of the glove. After a moment, he gently persuaded my head to rest on his chest and wrapped his arms around my back tightly as I wrapped mine around his waist. For the first time in my life I felt as though I had spoken volumes in a brief moment in which I had not said a word. 


	10. Hope

I had not but briefly looked out of the car window, so I was completely unaware as to my location. From my position on the seat I could tell that there were a lot of trees surrounding us so I assumed we had driven out into the country. The irony of this when compared to all the many action films where the hero whisks the damsel in distress out into the country where 'she will be safe,' amused me a little. From what I could recall, this was usually the only place where the bad guy could find them. That thought however made me a little uneasy so I pushed if from my mind for the time being. About half an hour after I had awoken we slowed down and eventually came to a stop. I could hear car doors open and shut as soon as we stopped. I sat up to survey the scene and was quite shocked at what I found. As I stared out the window, an agent opened the car door and nodded to Frank and I that we could exit the vehicle. As we stood, stretching the tightened muscles from the long journey, before us loomed one of the largest houses I had ever seen. It was fashioned like a log cabin but was the width of about three average houses and had two stories. The porch wrapped around the entire house and protected two front entrances. As I stared at the building, Agent Borders approached us. "Okay you two," he started playfully, a sentiment that I found surprising at the time, "the house is split into two houses really. It was used as a rental lodge for conventions and what not for a few years but the owners were losing money and the government needed large accommodations for their own 'conventions'." This statement was said with a smile and a wink in my direction. I assumed he meant that they used this building for meetings with different political leaders and the like, someplace where they could bring people that would garner much attention in a big city. He continued to explain that we would be staying in the smaller portion of the house while he and his men would set up in the rest. He assured us that many doors connected the two sections and they would have no trouble reaching us if necessary. Soon after we were escorted into the house and shown around briefly. The interior was just as beautiful as the outside had been. The walls inside were polished so precisely that the orange-brown of the stain nearly glowed. The floor was a gray stone with a variety of rugs laid near the furniture and down the hallway. The rooms were all furnished with large, imposing pieces that despite their beauty demanded nearly all the space available, even in a house of this size. When we entered we were greeted by a large living room area with two large burgundy couches and four antique wooden rockers all symmetrically arranged around the center coffee table. Behind this was an open dining area with a large mahogany table surrounded by eight tall ornate chairs. To the right of the table was a set of double doors that lead out onto an enclosed patio. To the left was another sitting area, smaller and more intimate than the first, and decorated in a less formal manner. Behind this was the kitchen. The two rooms were separated by long bar and the kitchen was obviously outfitted for a professional chef. The stainless steel appliances shined as though they had never been used. In fact the entire place was spotless, almost sterile. The warmth I had initially felt upon entering quickly diminished into an unsettling chill. Despite appearances, this was a place of business. I stood there taking in everything for a moment, my arms wrapped around myself for warmth, feeling like the tiniest person in the room. The men around me seemed so in control and certain of the situation. I however was lost in this world. I had never experienced anything like this before and was determined never to do so again. I watched as they talked candidly about the operation and the procedures they would follow should something happen. I had forgotten about Frank momentarily until I felt someone walk up behind me and place their hand on the small of my back. I started a little but as he came around me he gave me a little reassuring smile, which surprisingly helped. I smiled back, uncertain and not able to meet his gaze directly, and then watched as he joined the others. I wandered around a little and found that on the front wall of the second sitting room was a fireplace. The fire in it has just been started and was barely hanging on, but I sat down on the ledge of the hearth and curled up against the warming stone front. I closed my eyes and for the first time in a long time, pushed my thoughts from my mind and simply concentrated on my breathing. I sat against the fireplace until the last of Borders' team left. I watched for a moment as Frank sorted through a few electronic items Borders had left behind that I could not identify. It took a few minutes before he noticed and looked up at me. "What is it?" he asked suddenly. "What is what?" I retorted emotionless. "You want to say something, go ahead." "It's nothing," I said, trying to play off my surprise at how well he could read me. "I was just wondering why they put us in this section alone."  
  
"Borders thought you might like a little time away from all the confusion. Besides, they're just on the other side of the wall. You heard him say both sides of the building were connected," he explained, visually returning to the equipment. "I know. That's not what I meant," I said, stopping before I could finish my thought. "Then what did you mean?" he asked looking up at me again. "I don't know. It just feels strange." "What does?" "This. All of it. Being here in this place. Secluded from everything - everyone." "I thought you would have welcomed the privacy after everything that has happened." "I do. That's not it. I just don't know how to do this." "Kate, you're not making any sense. What are you talking about?" "I mean this! This! I don't know how to have a conversation with you that doesn't involve Carter or surveillance or weapons or - whatever! I don't know how.I don't think I can." "What?" "Be alone with you! I don't know how to be alone with you and it scares me." His expression quickly went from confusion to surprise and then sank into shock. He lowered his gaze, suddenly uncertain of what to say, staring blankly at the box before him. I knew I had hurt him, but I could not have held in my fears any longer. "Frank, listen. Everything that's happening between us came on so quickly, so.naturally, it took me by surprise. For a while I denied it, then I thought maybe I had imagined it, and then I told myself that it was just the situation and we would come to our senses when this had all blown over. Then I realized I didn't want that to happen, I didn't want to lose you, and I started worrying that maybe you didn't really feel the same way I did, and I panicked. Now I don't know where I stand or what I want and I'm scared you don't feel the same." "I understand your concerns, Kate," he said still staring blankly down. He slowly brought his eyes up to meet mine and continued coldly, " I thought I was making my feelings for you clear, but apparently I was wrong. As for my doubts, those are my concern, not yours." With that he picked up his bags and turned to walk down the hallway towards the bedrooms. We did not talk much the rest of the day. Beyond discussing Borders' security details and obligatory remarks to questions about the fire, the weather, and the like, we went about the afternoon shrouded in an uneasy silence. I placed what clothes I had, mostly purchased by Borders' people and some of my own brought out of storage, in the armoire in one of the bedrooms and lay down on the large bed. The damask comforter felt inviting and cool as I stretched out the length of the bed, something my injuries and hospital stays had not allowed for some time. Though I still struggled with pain, my injuries for the most part were under control and well on their way to healing. It was not long after I had lied down that I drifted off to sleep. I remember it was a deep sleep. Not really restful, but I was thankful for one aspect: it lacked dreams. Every time I had fallen asleep since that first encounter with Carter, I came face to face with the nightmares and fears it had created. They were always dark and tense, and I was always alone, cold, and scared. And almost always, there was never a happy ending. But this sleep was different. I was so exhausted, so lost for comfort and rest that I allowed my body to completely break away from what was going on around it. I embraced the silent darkness, and subconsciously thanked it for the reprieve from the fear and isolation I had come to expect over the last few weeks. I must have been asleep for a coupled of hours when I was awakened gently. I could not tell what it was that had brought me out of my slumber at first. I slowly realized that there was a hand pressing gently on the side of my knee. I opened my eyes and stretched slowly, finding that I was curled up on my side with my back to whomever it was that was sitting on the edge of the bed. I remember now that I was not one bit alarmed. It was strange that I did not jump or start when I realized I was not alone. Maybe I knew. When I turned over slowly, I saw Frank sitting there staring down at me with a soft smile and a knowing glint in his eyes. "Dinner is ready. You should eat and keep up your strength," he said softly, obviously testing the waters from my outburst earlier in the day. I nodded and rolled back over, and letting my legs drop over the side of the bed, sat up as slowly and purposefully as I could, maneuvering between sore muscles. When I was finally sitting up straight, I lifted my hand and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to tame the disheveled mess. During this, Frank had stood up and walked to the door. I could feel him standing there watching me and turned around to let him know. "I suppose we just said what we should have sooner," he remarked. "I guess we did." "I don't play games, Kate." "I never thought you would." "Then don't worry about how I feel because you already know." "Okay," I said, nodding a little, unsure what to say in response. "Alright then," he said, he shoulders visibly relaxing a little, "I'll go set the table." He turned and walked out of the room. I sighed a little as I watched him go. Part of me was grateful he was gone for now and part of me longing for him to stay. I stood up finally and walked over the one window in the room. There was a small window seat in front of it, cushioned in an antique rose colored fabric that I found oddly comforting. It reminded me of something I would have found in my Grandmother's home when I was little. I stared out the window at the fading sunlight. I had always found comfort in that light. I remember as a child watching the sun rise and set with the greatest anticipation. I must have thought it created this magically disappearing act just for me. I still found it mesmerizing and understood that this spectacle was, in a way, just for me. As I stood there absorbing the rich golds, reds, and oranges of autumn, I realized that this was a singular experience that only I myself could experience, alone or not. For one moment, just before the sun dipped into the darkness, through the flames of the leaves on the trees and the beams that burst forth from between the limbs, I caught a glimpse of my soul on the horizon and felt my breath catch in my throat. For the first time in a long time I felt something I thought I could never again. I felt hope. 


	11. One Evening

By the time that I had brushed my hair, straightened my clothes, and made my way down the hall to the dining room, Frank had already set the table and was bringing the food in from the kitchen. I gestured to take the food in myself, but he shook his head and insisted I sit down. Frank had set two places across from each other at the end of the long mahogany table furthest from the patio doors. Several short white pillar candles were lit in the center of the table and the chandelier above had been dimmed. The two fireplaces, the large on by the front entrance and the other in the small sitting room, were both ablaze, making the amber colored walls appear to glow in between the shadows. Frank had already set out a large salad, a loaf of French bread, and a bottle of wine on the table. I watched as he walked towards me with the rest of the food, carefully balancing a hot baking dish in one hand and a bowl of pasta in the other. He sat them both on the table and I could see then that the baking dish held what looked to be Chicken Parmesan. As he made his way to my side of the table and pulled out my chair, I suddenly felt as though I were on some kind of date and I could feel each one of my nerves begin to tense. I sat down softly in the ornate high-backed chair and tried to relax against the cushioned velvet back. After Frank had taken his seat, I took my napkin from the table, and taking my time to fold it in half, placed it very deliberately in my lap, taking time to smooth the creases against my leg. I tried my best not to make eye contact with him as he poured us each a glass of red wine and offered to plate my salad.  
  
I watched silently as he handed me the plate and then absentmindedly drizzled dressing over the plate, watching as it rolled into every nook and cranny it could find. I could feel the discomfort of the silence as though it was a physical being sitting at the same table, watching our every move. I stole quick glances up at Frank occasionally as I picked my way through the lettuce and every time he would be looking at me. His expression was somewhat inquisitive but serene. He did not seem concerned by my silence but I knew he longed for conversation. I felt the same but could not bring myself to say anything. Eventually we pushed our salad plates aside and Frank served the chicken on top of a bed of the angel hair pasta. The trouble he took placing the food on the plate surprised me. I could imagine from watching him that it was more a matter of art than food for him. But something about his movements, his gentleness, settled my nerves and I slowly began to let down the wall that I had so meticulously built between us. "I didn't know the FBI ran a cooking school." I said, trying to sound a little more playful than I felt. "Well, when you live alone and travel as much as I do, you have to learn to feed yourself," he said with a sly grin. "So you've moved around a lot with the Bureau?" I asked innocently. "Uh.no. Not with the Bureau," he said getting noticeably nervous and uncomfortable. "Oh, then you haven't always been an agent," I continued, wanting to know more but not wanting to push too far. No.no, I haven't," he answered, his eyes seemingly searching the table for some invisible object. He seemed to collect his thoughts a little as he finally picked up the wine bottle and asked, " Would you like some more to drink?" "Yes, of course. Thank you," I said as I raised my glass for him to take. I could sense his discomfort and after taking back the glass of wine, decided to allow him the opportunity to successfully change the topic. I did not have to wait long for him to do so. "So, tell me about you," he started with a renewed interest in conversation. "How did you get to where you are?" "You mean hiding out in some secret diplomatic conference hall and hotel from a psychotic organized crime boss? I think you know all about that," I said, grinning mischievously over the glass of wine before I took a sip. "That's not what I mean and you know it. Where did you grow up? What was your family like?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning in over the table. "I thought you'd know all of that already. Isn't that in a file somewhere," I retorted, somewhat more menacingly than I wanted. "Raw data," he said, ignoring the discrepancy of character, "It doesn't give me any details. I may know where you were born and your parents' names, but it's not enough. I want to know what in your past has made you so resilient, headstrong, and." "Stubborn?" He smiled a little. "Well, yes. To get through what you have lately, you'd have to be a little stubborn." "I suppose you're right." "You always seem to have things under some kind of control. Especially your emotions." "I guess it's just human nature. Don't we all try to find some kind of order in the midst of all the chaos in our lives? I just happen to live a life that's currently a degree more chaotic than most," I said flippantly.  
  
"It can also be natural for someone to give in to the chaos," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Most people in your situation would be hiding in a corner somewhere, too afraid to do anything. Many might even welcome death as a way of getting away from it. I mean, what you're facing is." "Don't," I said, holding up my hand as I turned my head and closed my eyes, physically trying to stop the panic that I felt rising inside of me. "Don't what?" "Don't remind me what I should be afraid of. Don't talk about it. I just want one evening that I don't have to think about it." "I'm sorry. Of course you're right," he said, instinctively reaching for the hand resting on the table. He laid his hand over it gently as he said," I promise, I won't mention it again." I opened my eyes slowly, and was a little surprised by the sight of his hand over my own, his thumb, gently rubbing the back of it. This feeling, however, soon vanished when I realized that this sudden show of tenderness was sincere and I would not have to worry about reliving the horrors of the past weeks for that one night. "Well," Frank began his voice uneasy as he took another sip of wine, "You still haven't told me about yourself. Are you going to make me guess?" "I don't know what to tell you," I said as I propped my elbow up on the table and rested my head against my hand. "Tell me about your parents. What were they like?" "Well, my father died when I was three, so I didn't know him really, just stories." "How did he die?" "He was a cop - street beat. Responded to a robbery call one night at some convenient store, guy was still there when he arrived and opened fire before Dad even got near the door. One of the bullets caught him in the skull. He was in a coma for three weeks before he finally died. After that we were pretty much on our own." "We?" Frank asked, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "My mother, myself, and my little brother, John. He was barely a year old when it happened." "What did you do?" "What we had to. Mom worked three jobs until I was seven." "Why so many? Didn't she get any benefits? Your dad was a cop after all." "Yeah, but it wasn't enough. See John had Leukemia. He was diagnosed when he was four and had been sick for along time before that. Every penny went to doctors and hospitals. Mom worked so much to make sure we kids were never without. We had everything we could ever want, especially John." "What happened to him?" "He died when he was eight. They fought it off the best they could. It looked like he might go into remission, but then a coupled of months after his third birthday, he got sick and they found that the cancer had returned worse than ever. The next year was hell. I still don't know how he made it that long. When he died, my mother grieved but not like how you might expect." "What do you mean?" Frank asked, leaning in over the table again, arms still crossed. "She felt the pain of losing her son terribly, but at the same time she was relieved. His pain was gone, as was her torment. A few months later, she quit one of her jobs and the mood of the house changed. She was around more, she actually played with me and made special meals just for me, and she even managed to start going out with friends. She smiled more, too. I don't ever remember seeing her smile before then." "Well, now I know where you get your strength from," Frank said with a smile. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure it's strength so much as stubbornness." "Whatever it is, it works," he said, taking another sip of wine thoughtfully. "So your mother never remarried?" "No," I said, shaking my head, smiling somberly as I remembered, "She said she didn't think she could stand losing another man in her life. I guess I can understand." "Is that why you've stayed away from relationships your whole life?" he asked, already showing his awareness of my oncoming surprise. I looked at him, my face obviously showing my shock. "Now don't look at me like that. It's my job to know these things." I shot him a challenging glare and he smiled. "Okay, so I talked to your mother. When you ask a mother a simple question like 'Is there anyone else in her life that should know about her situation?' they tend to go off on a tangent if there isn't." "Well, I'm not surprised she said something. She thinks I'm still single because of her." "That you stay with her because you feel guilty?" "Yes. To tell you the truth I don't feel guilty. I do, however, feel responsible for her. She had to deal with a lot of crap in her life in order to take care of my brother and me and I do feel that I owe her for all of it. She worked so hard for so long and nothing for it in return. I'd say she deserved to have someone look out for her for a change." "Well, I wouldn't go as far as to say she got nothing in return. She got a daughter that cares for and loves her. I would guess she's happy just knowing you turned out as wonderful as you did." "Wow, you must have talked to her for a long time to get her to say I was 'wonderful'," I said smiling, looking down into my glass. "She wasn't the one who said it," I heard him say quietly. "Then who." I started to ask but when I looked up I caught his stare and I could see the answer before I finished the question. We held each other's gaze for a few moments before I began to feel like a silly schoolgirl - my heart beating erratically in my chest. After a few minutes Frank broke the uncomfortable silence by suggesting we move over to the couch by the fire. Picking up my wineglass I followed and took a seat next to him on the large brown leather sofa. Frank sat a little apart from me but close enough that I could tell the difference between the heat from the fire and the heat from his body. He was turned towards me; his arm propped up on the back of the couch, his head resting on the knuckles of a light fist. He had one foot on the coffee table and the other leg stretched out beneath it. It was the most relaxed I had ever seen him - and possibly the sexiest. Part of me wanted to burst with laughter at that thought. I felt so childish and unsure of myself with Frank. His presence was so intimidating and comforting at the same time that it confused me. I could not tell where I stood with him, even after he told me. It took a moment, but eventually it was Frank that broke the silence between us. "So what made you go into the sciences?" "I don't know, a little bit of everything I guess," I said as I curled up into the corner of the couch and rested the side of my head against the back. "I always loved animals as a child and as I got older I started learning more about medicine and research, and by the time I got to college I realized that I wanted to work with all of it. That's when I decided I wanted to become a professor. I took the job as a lab instructor after I graduated so I could take a break from school and log some 'real life experience.' I was planning on applying to graduate school for next fall, but, well, we'll see." "What do you mean? Why don't you do it?" "With everything's that's happened? There's no guarantee that this thing will be over by the end of this year, let alone over with enough time to apply in the spring. It'll just have to wait," I said, trying not to sound as disappointed as I was. Frank sat for moment; his brow knitted intensely, his eyes dark and a little sad. "I hate the thought that all of this may prevent you from doing something important." "Not preventing," I said, touching his knee softly, "Just delaying." I smiled as he relaxed a little. It was an odd feeling to be comforting him, but at the same time I did not want him to blame himself for my situation. "But there's still a chance Kate, that this may not end so easily," he continued, the seriousness sneaking back into his expression. "What are you talking about?" I asked, feeling the conversation change directions, feeling more and more like a downward spiral. "Carter's a hard man to track and if we do find him and manage to get him into custody, then we have to deal with all of the legalities." "What legalities?" "Well, we have plenty of evidence that links Carter to dozens of incidents with weapons rings, drug cartels, even child slavery. But we have nothing that implicates him as ringleader and none of his men that we have ever had in custody will speak out against him. They all swear he doesn't know anything, wasn't present at this meeting or another, or has never fired a weapon in their presence." "I don't understand, why would they lie like that? They're going down, why not take him down with them? He's the reason they're there. Why not punish him too? I know I would." "Well, it could be that they're not lying, that he has managed his dealings that well. Puppets, his men acting on his behalf, could run his entire operation. Many of the outfits he's dealt with claim that they have never actually met him." "But we know he was at the college. He was the one that tortured me. I saw him. I identified him for you. And you said that he was at the deal when his wife was killed." "Yes, that's true, but those were very specific cases. Carter's behavior in both incidents was unusual for him. His wife never knew what Carter did for a living. For all she knew he was just another white-collar businessman. It could be that the reason he was able to fool his own wife for so long wasn't because of her infinite trust or naivete, but instead was because he did run a normal everyday business. So, if he really did stay away from all the particulars, and allowed his men to do the leg work, then she would never have had a reason to question him." "But why was she there that day?" "The deal wasn't supposed to go down that day. It was supposed to be a preliminary meeting between his men, including one of my agents, and the supplier. But one of Carter's men got greedy and had set up the exchange ahead of schedule, planning on taking part of the shipment to sell for himself." "One of the hazards of not doing your own dirty work I assume?" "More common than you might think," Frank said matter-of-factly, "Anyone who is in this business long enough and learns how to make the right contacts, eventually wants to break off on their own. Unfortunately, Carter found out and decided to surprise his men. He didn't know we were watching, he thought he'd just run in, oversee the meeting, and walk out. One of our shooters on the roof spotted him and we sprang into action. He surfaced so rarely and stayed away from the dealings so often that his appearance was like a gift. So, long story short, we surprised them, the bullets flew for about half an hour and unfortunately, Mrs. Carter's concern for her husband put her the path of fire. It was a horrible accident." Frank stopped talking and looked down at the couch, obviously reliving that day. "But what about me," I said, breaking him away from his silent revelry, "He was at the college. Why was that different?" "Kate, you're the first person that we've ever had that's seen him, that's watched him give orders and saw his layout of the attack. He confided in you that he was the one in charge and that he had put a man inside the school to watch for agents. He told you those things because he thought you were going to die. He had it planned that he was going to kill you. But you got away. And now you're the only person that stands between him and us. Your testimony would put him away for life, regardless of what else he has done." "But you talked to him on the radio. He identified himself to you." "It could have been any one of his men pretending to be him. We can't prove that it was he. Again, it's just another circumstantial implication." "So what does this all mean to me? Are you suggesting that I'll have to go into the Witness Relocation Program?" "It's a possibility. It's a strong possibility; I won't lie to you. No one could ever force you into it, but we could never guarantee your safety outside of it." "So that's it. My future. If I don't testify, Carter will try to kill me out of fear that one day I might, and if I do, he'll kill me because I did. Either way I lose. It's all over. I thought all this time that there was a way that maybe someday my life would go back to normal. But that's not possible is it?" "Anything is possible, Kate," Frank said, stretching his arm across the back of the couch and then laying his hand upon my head, softly stroking my hair. "You could do whatever you wanted, within reason. Just maybe in another city under another name. Maybe you won't have to miss any opportunities after all." "And then, maybe I should take them as they come along," I said catching his gaze and holding it. I could see a little bit of surprise in his eyes as they watched me, waiting for something to happen. Slowly, I leaned in toward him, resting one arm on the back of the couch, across his own, and placing the hand of the other on his thigh. I held his gaze as I reached out for his mouth with my own and then as our lips finally touched, I closed my eyes and surrendered to the impulse that had pushed me towards him. The first kiss was light and gentle, but then as the warmth of our bodies began to overcome the heat from the fire before us, we settled into a deeper, more sensual rhythm, his tongue beginning to softly massage my own. He brought both of his arms around as I moved my hand from his thigh up to his shoulder and looped the other around the back of his neck. He cradled me for some time, the kisses more intense, our breaths catching, and the pressure of our caresses increasing as our desire unfolded. I wanted to stop as much as I wanted to continue. My need for him that night was something that I had never experienced before. The feelings I had could never be expressed, but as we made our way to the bedroom that night I knew that for one evening, I had everything I had ever dreamed of. 


	12. Great Expectations

It rained for three days after Frank¹s team took over. I saw Frank less and less each day and quickly learned to entertain myself in his absence. Most of the rainy evenings that followed I spent sitting in the small courtyard in the center of the complex. Covered in part by a dark awning, I would sit at the small glass-top table next to the little pond and fountain in the center of the courtyard. I sat with my knees pulled up to my chest, my over-sized sweater stretched over them with my chin resting in the material pulled taught between them. I would stare at the rain as it hit the deep red brick path, watching until darkness fell and the tiny porch light above the door came on. The light was dim but it illuminated the drops of rain just enough to see them appear suddenly, silently descend, and then, just as suddenly, crash into the bricks. The light would dance off of the miniscule droplets of water that would explode out from the impact. Together, the hundreds of drops of rain would merge into a symphony of tiny explosions against the darkness. A shower of wet fire. The rhythm was soothing. But the more I watched, the more disturbing the pattern, the more it bombarded my mind and disturbed my soul.   
  
Breaking from my trance I closed my eyes, trying to shake the violent quaking of the fear that threatened to erupt within me. I stood silently and walked into the house, my arms hugging each other tightly. Walking down the hallway I could already make out Frank and his team sitting at the dining room table looking over maps and files, none of which I understood from a distance. Cody worked steadily at the computer. It seemed he lived on it, day and night. I assumed he was doing something productive. I assumed they were all doing something that would lead to the discovery of Carter, but I had yet to be allowed in on their secretive discussions and technical jargon. I was left with my assumptions and pushed to the background. I felt as though my safety net, my connection with Frank, had been all but obliterated. I was a devastating feeling that I tried desperately to ignore, telling myself that our relationship was both ill timed and doomed under the circumstances.   
  
I turned abruptly, deciding not to face the group, and walked into the kitchen and began a fruitless search of the refrigerator. I had found in my life that when I was the most bored or nervous I would search the refrigerator for some unknown item, not really hungry and usually never finding anything tempting enough to induce a craving. After a few minutes I relented and resolved to go to bed, despite the reasonably early hour. My mind was not capable of reading or researching and my heart was less than eager for company. However, company it found as I turned to walk out of the kitchen. Frank was standing in the doorway with one hand raised bracing his tall frame as it leaned in toward me. He stared at me for a moment, inquisitively narrowing his eyes.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked softly. "You've been quiet lately. I've been worried."  
  
"Really?" I asked, surprised to hear the agitation in my own voice. "It hasn't showed." I looked him in the eye for only an instant before I averted my gaze, a little disappointed in myself for my response.  
  
"I'm sorry Kate. With Borders gone I'm in charge now, it's my show. I have to supervise my team and help them in order to find Carter and end this."  
  
"Yeah. That would be nice wouldn't it? To just get this all over with and move on with our lives. That would be wonderful. Very liberating," I said, just barely avoiding a yell and fully aware that I had probably just caught the attention of the others. Frustrated, I pushed past Frank and walked as quickly as I could down the hall to my room. I shut the door behind me, restraining myself from slamming it as hard as I could. I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream at Frank for ignoring me and I wanted to scream at myself for being so childish. I knew that this had to end, that I was in danger and Frank and his team were the only people that could help restore my life to normal. But I wanted to be over so badly that I denied it existed for that one moment in the kitchen staring him down as if he were the enemy. I felt guilty and angry at the same time. So many emotions ran through me at any one time that over the past weeks I had begun to unable to differentiate between them. I paced for a while across the room from the window to the door, fighting back tears and trying to hold off the mountain of nerves that threatened to crumble from underneath me. I paused at the window for a moment, blankly staring out into the darkness of the overcast skies. I stood quietly, intently trying to push back the pain and work up the strength to move on, just one more time. I heard the creak of the floorboards in the hall a second before the faint knock of someone at the door. I stood motionless, not certain I wanted to answer. After a few more attempts at the door, I relented and called out for whomever it was to enter.  
  
Not surprisingly, it was Frank. He cautiously opened the door and stepped into the room. I turned away from him as I felt the tears begin the well up in my eyes. I did not want him to see me cry again, but I wanted him to know more than anything how much I was hurting.  
  
"Kate, I'm sorry for everything. But you know what has to be done. You have to know that this is not going to be easy. We can't let our emotions get in the way." I could hear the pleading in his voice and wanted to say something but could not.  
  
"Kate, please. Say something. Scream at me. Cry if you want to, but don't block me out. Not now. We've made it this far and we can get through this. But I can't do it without you. You have to be in this one hundred percent." I finally broke my silence and turned towards him.  
  
"You don't need me, Frank. You are more than able to finish this on your own. We haven't made it through anything. You've done everything. I'm only here because you pushed me. I would have died back there in that tunnel if it weren't for you."  
  
"You know that's not true. You made the decision to live and you did. You were well on your way out of there before you reached me. You helped me get into that building. You were the one that opened the door, not us."  
  
"It doesn't matter how I got here. The fact remains that I can't go any farther. I'm stuck. I don't have the energy to face this thing any more. I want it to stop. I want to go home and get on with my life."  
  
"That can't happen until Carter is out of the picture, you know that."  
  
"How do we know he's even still out there? Maybe he's moved on. Maybe he doesn't want me anymore. How do you know he's even alive? Men like that get killed everyday by people that disappear just as quickly as he can. He has enemies. He has to. Maybe they found him already."  
  
Frank started to reply but stopped himself. He turned his head a little and I could tell that something I had said had struck a chord with him. After a few seconds he returned his attention to me and seemed to begin where he had left off.  
  
"Kate, you have to trust me. I know I keep telling you that but it's the only way we'll make it through. We have to trust each other's instincts and right now mine are telling me that you are very much in danger and we need to stick together," he finished and held my glance for an instant before turning, seemingly reluctant to leave the subject, but turned and walked out of the room.   
  
As he shut the door behind him I wanted to pick up a large vase on the dresser closest to me and throw it at the door. I stopped myself however and after a few unsuccessful attempts to collect myself and return to the kitchen to get dinner, I resigned myself to getting ready for bed and trying to put the incident behind me.   
  
In the morning I dreaded getting out of bed and contemplated just staying there. But I eventually, and reluctantly, got up and showered and threw on the same clothes I had been wearing the previous night. A brief glance out of the window revealed that the clouds had cleared a bit and the day looked promising for the first time in weeks. After throwing my hair up into a ponytail, I walked down the hall to the kitchen. Alex and Monica were in there laughing about something. I would never find out what, they stopped abruptly and left the room as I entered. The feeling of wanting to throw something returned but I suppressed it once again and grabbed a muffin from a tray and began to peel the paper from the bottom when I heard a voice behind me.   
  
"Well, I guess I should thank you."  
  
I turned towards Frank, certain my confusion was obvious. He was smiling like a Cheshire cat. He looked like a little kid that had just pulled off the world¹s greatest prank. I had never seen him like this and was unsure how to proceed with my questioning. Before I could say anything though, he continued.  
  
"Your remark last night about Carter."  
  
I was still at a loss. I had said so many things during my tantrum that I remembering one specific comment was all but impossible.  
  
"About him having enemies," Frank continued, aware of my confusion. "Of course he does. Anyone in his position would have enemies. It took a little digging, but we found them."  
  
"Found who?"  
  
"His enemies. The people who are going to help us."  
  
"What do you mean? How could people like that be of any help to us?"  
  
"Well, that's where it gets interesting," he said and walked out of the kitchen towards the dinging room.   
  
I assumed that I was meant to follow him so after grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and toting my muffin, I did. The dining room was a mess. Papers and computers had appeared overnight like they had grown there. All of the agents were bouncing around from monitors to boxes to files to monitors, oblivious as usual to my presence. Frank was standing at the table rifling through some files, apparently looking for something specific. Jake walked by and winked at me, giving me a thumbs up for reasons yet unknown. Seconds later, Frank walked around the table and stopped in front of me.   
  
"Here he is," he said opening a file folder and turning it to show me.   
  
The picture inside was of a man in his mid-forties, red hair and beard. He was glaring at the camera and his gaze disturbed me. It reminded me of the look in Carter's eyes in the broiler room. I stared for a moment but quickly looked away, flipping my hand up, brushing the folder away from me a little.  
  
"Who is he?"  
  
"Marco Renauldi."  
  
"And what does he do?"  
  
"He's an arms dealer like Carter. They done a couple of transactions together, nothing big, but apparently Carter has moved up on his list of people to kill."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well, before Carter went on his little rampage through the college, he was heavily involved in a weapons exchange between himself, Renauldi, and another dealer from Japan. Apparently they each had something the other wanted and decided to do an exchange rather than purchase the weapons from one another. It's a rare situation but it happens. But the people involved have to trust each other a good deal before they'll consent."  
  
"So if he trusted Carter, what happened?"  
  
"Well, Carter backed out of the exchange the day before it was supposed to go down and went underground. No one could find him after that. He just disappeared. We know now that he was planning the attack on the school. This left Renauldi and the other dealer stuck. Neither had their weapons and both became suspicious of Carter. A few weeks after the exchange was supposed to happen, Renauldi found out that the weapons Carter had promised him had been sold to another dealer somewhere in South America. I guess to help pay his men. You have to understand that what Carter did at the college wasn't cheap. He scraped and scammed his way through to get enough money to pay for everything he needed."  
  
"Okay, so Renauldi didn't get his guns. So what? Can't he get them from someone else?"  
  
"No. The rumor is that Carter had some kind of new weapon, possibly a new kind of explosive imported from Eastern Europe. Whatever it was, it was big. Renauldi was planning on using it fairly soon. Everything he had planned up until that point included using this weapon. It was apparently the only thing that would do the job. But that doesn't matter. The fact remains that Carter jilted Renauldi of the opportunity of using it and ruined all his plans. Renauldi obviously lost a lot of money. He was probably contracted to do a specific job on a certain timeline and when Carter pulled out of the exchange, he had to scrap his original plan and redo everything. He lost the contract because he wasn't able to figure out an alternate plan in time and there's always someone else waiting in the wings to do the job and do it cheaper if you don't. So Renauldi lost his contract and possibly millions of dollars and he lost face with his client. That's bad for business and he blames Carter for the whole thing."  
  
"All right, but how's that help us. Does he know where Carter is?"  
  
"We don't know that yet. We do know that he's been looking for him. We don't have any agents in his circle and we don't have the time to set up an operation like that. So for now, all we have is surveillance. But according to some of our sources, Renauldi is close. He's been tracking Carter somehow, we're not sure how, but he's been just a few steps behind him for a week or so now."  
  
"So what do you do now?"  
  
"We watch Renauldi. I have six agents in the field keeping a close eye on him and his people. Jake and Alex will be joining them later today."  
  
"Join them where?"  
  
"Just outside Chicago."  
  
"You mean Carter's that close? After all this time he's practically just down the road?"  
  
"I mean Renauldi is in Chicago. Carter may or may not be. We have to wait and see what happens. But if I had to hazard a guess I'd say that Carter is probably closer than we think. He knows we wouldn't have gone too far and he knows we can't hide forever. He's in stalking mode right now, just waiting patiently for us to make our next move out into the open. If we were to lose our cover right now, he would strike, and strike harder than we could defend ourselves against."  
  
The idea of Carter lurking about sent chills through my entire body. The fear that I had been trying so hard to suppress was now threatening to take over once again. I knew that Frank was trying to make me understand that finding out about Renauldi was a good thing, but it was hard for me to understand that this was the biggest lead we would get on Carter's location. As much as I wanted to get the entire thing over with, and as much as that depended on finding Carter, I was not happy with the idea of actually pushing him to resurface. Frank was aware of how unsettled I was with the whole plan. He tried to make me feel better about the idea.  
  
"Kate, this is the only way to get close to Carter and we have to get to him in order to end this. You won't be in any danger. We'll handle everything. You'll stay here with Monica. Carter won't look for you here, I promise," he said, grasping my arms gently, making sure he had eye contact with me.   
  
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to think I was safe there. But something inside of me told me I was not. But despite my disillusionment, I smiled weakly, and told Frank I believed him. He seemed content with my answer. He smiled softly and, after squeezing my hand briefly, returned to the task at hand, foraging through the files and computer printouts.  
  
The next few days were more animated than the ones before. Alex and Jake left to join the other agents in the field while Frank, Cody, and Monica planned and strategize how they would proceed with the capture should Carter be located. The rain had stopped and the sun was out for a while before the clouds began to congregate once again. A cold wind began blowing and the skies massed together into a slate gray ceiling above us. It was snowing by the end of the week. The flurries of snow were lightly building in the grass but melting quickly. The ominous skies had a strange affect on me. Watching the banks of clouds moving in seemed threatening, harboring a dark future.   
  
Word finally came from the field that Renauldi had apparently found Carter and that the team was going to move in on him within a day. Frank and Cody loaded up a van with more equipment than I could imagine was necessary and prepared to leave the night Alex called from the field. Frank tried to reassure me that Monica was all the protection I needed where I was and that he would return soon, hopefully with Carter in handcuffs. I smiled and nodded, trying to pretend that I believed him. Deep down I knew he was as certain of his success as I was. He knew that trying to take Carter down would be tricky at best, disastrous at worst. I watched from the doorway, standing back behind Monica, as Frank and Cody drove away that night. The strange thing was, I wanted to go with them. I knew I would not be of any help to them, but I wanted to be there if they got him. I wanted to see the look in his eyes when they took him away for the last time. But instead I stood in the shadows and watched them leave, praying they would return safely, and hoping they knew what they were doing.  
  
That night went by slowly. Monica kept in contact with Frank via radio and cell phone, constantly updating him on everything from local police involvement to traffic reports. She repeatedly referred to several psychological profiles they had on Renauldi and his people as well as Carter. I sat in front of the fireplace with my back to her most of the night, unable to sleep and afraid she would not wake me if something happened. She had barely spoken to me since she had arrived. Her job was her number one priority and she treated me as part of it. She was not cold towards me; she simply worked on a different level. So I left her to her work. I would not have known what to say to her anyways, considering what had happened between Frank and myself. Part of me could tell that she suspected something. Maybe they all did. Frank may have been a master at disguising his emotions but I certainly was not.   
  
Monica and I spent the rest of the night with our backs to one another. I eventually fell asleep on the sofa, curled up on the end with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and my cheek against the cool leather on the arm. When I awoke the next morning the fire had long since extinguished itself and the sun was slipping in through the dining room window, squeezing past the sheer white curtains. I rubbed my eyes trying to get them to focus. I began to make out Monica's form in the chair across from me. She was curled up in a tight little ball with a quilt from one of the beds over her. It surprised me to see her sleeping. With everything that was going on I guess I imagined that she would still be awake and working at the computer. I told myself that it must mean that nothing was happening and everything was going well or else she would have been awake. Once my initial surprise and concern wore off, I got off of the sofa and ate breakfast and showered. After I had dressed I walked back into the dining room to see Monica start turning on some equipment and booting up a laptop. She looked up when I walked in but said nothing.  
  
"Good morning," I said, braving the silence.  
  
"Good morning," she replied without looking up.  
  
"Any word yet?" I asked, probing the awkward silence.  
  
"No, they're holding their positions for now."  
  
"So no sign of Carter then?"  
  
"No, not yet."  
  
"When do you think they'll hear something?"  
  
"I don't have any idea. We just have to wait and see."  
  
"Oh, okay," I tried to act as if the lack of information did not bother me as much as it did. I was attempting to appear as professional as the rest of them. But I believe I failed miserably.  
  
Monica continued to stare at the computer monitor as I sat across from her at the table fidgeting and fussing with a stack of papers. My continuous motion and the uncomfortable silence eventually took it¹s toll on Monica and she tore her eyes from the computer, staring at me with a determined expression that told me to stop whatever I was doing. I gave her a guilty grin and put my hands in my lap.   
  
"Listen, Miss Connor, " Monica began with a surprisingly lighter tone. "I know that this is hard for you. I know you don't have any experience with this sort of thing and I appreciate that you want to know what's going on. You should know, it's your life, but I'm not accustomed to working alongside the person we're supposed to protect. I mean, it's obvious that you and Frank have become close and that's fine, it's not my business, but I can't let my guard down and become friends like that. I know what can happen when you let the wrong people in and once you think you're one of us, then you're that much closer to getting hurt."  
  
"I'm not asking to be part of the team, Monica. I just want to know what's going on. I can't sit here while people take care of my problems. Maybe I do want to be part of the action. But I don't want to be one of you. I've been close enough to that. I just..." I could not say to her what I wanted to say. I did not want to admit what I was thinking. But she saw through my guise easily enough.  
  
"You just want to know that Donovan's alright."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose I do. I don't want anyone else to die. I don't want to lose anyone else."  
  
Monica smiled as she shook her head.   
  
"I don't think you have to worry about that. Frank Donovan isn't exactly the easiest person to knock down. Not to mention the fact that he has the best team in the world backing him up," she said with a wink.  
  
I laughed a little, glad for the lightened mood, and relieved to hear that the situation was in good hands. I knew Frank's team was good, but I knew Carter was in some ways at least, better. I sat with Monica the rest of the morning before heading out into the courtyard to read. My heart felt a little lighter after speaking with Monica. It was the first time I had realized that it was not only Frank who knew what he was doing. Competent and fully capable people who did this kind of thing on a daily basis surrounded me. I was the only rookie in this picture. I felt secure that I would be taken care of and protected. But security if often a fleeting feeling and I was close to finding out how quickly it passes.  
  
***************  
  
"So what do you think so far Michael? Am I still the same person you thought you knew?" my mother asked as she turned back towards me, her eyes deceiving her attempt to lighten her tone.   
  
I could see that she was exhausted, emotionally and physically. I did not know what to say. I could hardly keep eye contact with her. I felt guilty for my anger and ashamed of how I had spoken of and about her. But mostly I felt confusion. I wanted to understand what she was telling me but it all seemed like some kind of strange fiction. Wanting to make her feel better about revealing the truth I tried to hide my emotions.  
  
"Of course you're the same person. Your past doesn't change who you are to me. It's what made you who and what you are."  
  
"That was a very Hallmark response. I had not realized we had fallen to cliché and generic remarks. I had hoped for some form of honesty Michael, especially now."  
  
I felt her displeasure greatly and was sorry I had chosen such a lame way of covering my own discomfort.  
  
"Mom, I don't know what to say, to be honest. All I know is that the life I've led isn't necessarily the life I thought I lived. Everything has changed and everything¹s the same. I don't know what to think."  
  
"Now that's better. An honest answer. That's what I deserve to hear," she said with a slight smile and a glint in her eye. "Honestly Michael, I don't expect forgiveness or understanding. I just need to know that my life wasn't for nothing. That what I've done wasn't wrong or selfish. I can't die knowing that my son may not know who his father is or know all the wonderful things he's done. I don't want to think that someday after I'm gone you may find out on your own and hate me more than you do now."  
  
"I don't hate you Mom. I could never. I was just angry. I still am to some degree. You should have told me sooner."  
  
"I know, Michael. I know. But I couldn't find the strength. For all the courage I have, I never had enough to admit I was lying to you your entire life."  
  
"Well, you've told me now. You don't have to worry about that anymore," I said as I leaned over a placed my hand over hers, as they lay crossed in her lap.   
  
She smiled softly and closed her eyes like she was trying to memorize every tingle in my touch. I must admit that I too, was trying to memorize every line, every stray hair, and every speck of color in her eyes. It was the only way I could hold on to her now. I was losing the mother I never knew and I needed ever scrap of memory I could afford myself.  
  
"You should get some sleep, Mom."  
  
"No," she said, opening her eyes quickly, an urgent tone to her voice. "No, I have to finish this. You need to know and I have to tell you while I can, just in case...just in case."  
  
"All right. If that's what you want."  
  
"What time is it, Michael?"  
  
"Two in the morning, why?"  
  
"Ha, how strange," she whispered as she stared of into a dark corner of the room as she remembered some long lost memory that was invisible to me.  
  
"What's strange?"  
  
"That's the time that we got the call."  
  
"What call?"  
  
"The call we had been waiting for. The call telling us that Carter had been captured. The call that was supposed to mean it was all over." 


	13. Bridge Across Troubled Water

It was two o'clock in the morning when Monica awakened me. I had fallen asleep in the courtyard late in the afternoon, curled up on the cushioned porch swing in the corner. She was excited about something and was telling me to hurry into the dining room. Groggy and confused, I stood and followed her into the house. She was waiting by the table when I got there with a little smirk on her face. She held out her cell phone, obviously trying to temper her excitement. "Here," she said in a staccato tone, "it's Frank. He has something to tell you." I stared at her for a moment, wanting to take her happiness for what it was, but I had grown too cautious over the past weeks and prepared myself to hear news that was less than what I could hope. "Hello?" I asked, as I put the phone to my ear, bracing myself. "Kate? It's Frank. It's over. We've got him," it was the first time I had heard Frank so happy when he spoke to me. 'Caught him?" I asked, still afraid to draw my own conclusions. I needed to hear him say the words directly to believe they could be said at all. "Yes. Carter. He's in custody. We got him and Renauldi just a few minutes ago. It's over. He and most of his men are off the streets now. It was easier than we thought it would be considering how Carter is. But Renauldi led us right to him." I just stood there listening for a long time, unable to say anything or think anything. The idea that it could be over, that I could move on, was almost too overwhelming to comprehend. It had only been a few weeks but it felt like a lifetime of hiding and fighting and fear, and I was not sure I could go back to the way I was before. "Kate," Frank's voice startling me back into reality, "Kate, did you hear me?" "Yes," I said softly, feeling the tears welling up inside like the suppressed floodwaters behind a fragile dam. "I heard you." "Good. We'll be back in a few hours with the rest of the convoy to pick up you and Monica and head back towards Chicago." "What convoy? You mean you're bringing him here?" "Don't worry, Kate. He'll be in an armored van with guards plus he'll be restrained. You won't have anything to worry about." "You're sure?" "Yes, I promised you safety and that's what you'll get. We would never do anything to endanger you." "Okay. Fine." I said, knowing had no choice in the matter and feeling little comfort in Frank's promise. We said our goodbyes and I set off to pack up my few belongings and Monica began packing up equipment. Despite his promise, the convoy did not arrive until late that afternoon around four o'clock. At the head of the line were two state troopers followed by the van Frank and Cody left in. Behind them was another car, a black sedan with darkened windows. Then came an armored van, also black, without windows in the back and two officers in the front cab, one holding a shotgun in plain sight. At the end of the line were two more state troopers. It was a grim sight despite the fact that the one van held Carter and several of his men, meaning I was safe for the moment. Monica and I stood on the front porch as Frank, Cody, Jake, and Alex stepped out of the first van. They were all still dressed in their field gear. Each was draped in black and strapped down with Kevlar, their weapons still holstered and their radios still on. They all wore expressionless faces and were obviously still keeping their guard up, especially with the enemy so near. After a few minutes Frank approached us silently, looking back over his shoulder several times in the short distance. He looked concerned about something but as he stepped up onto the porch he gave us a weak smile and nodded at Monica who then disappeared into the house. I knew immediately that something was going on that they had conveniently forgotten to tell me. Tired from lack of sleep as well as from the tedium of their silence I broke the silence between us. "Okay, just cut to the chase. What's wrong? Something isn't right, I can tell. So just stop the bullshit and tell me the truth," I said, louder than I had planned, attracting the attention of a few state troopers. Frank looked back at them and then turned back to me, placing his hands on his hips. He stepped closer towards me and bent his head down, hovering just inches from my ear. "I'm just concerned about Carter. The way he gave himself up, something's just not right." He turned back towards the van containing Carter. His jaw was set and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the men standing around the van. "You mean he just turned himself in? No fight?" "There was short fight, a little gunfire, but nothing compared to what he was capable of doing. We followed Renauldi to this warehouse, we watched Carter walk in and sent the team in. They were shooting at us before we even saw them. It was like they knew we were coming. We pushed them back into this storeroom and they just gave up. There was a back exit that wasn't covered but they didn't try to get out. They just gave up their weapons and quit the fight. I could tell by the faces of the men that Carter had ordered them to give themselves up. They looked as confused as we did. But we took him anyways. He has something planned Kate, he has to. Maybe I should send you ahead of us. Wait until you get to Chicago before we leave here, just in case." "No," I said, shaking my head, "I'm not doing that. I'm leaving here with you. There are not enough people to guard two groups out of here. I'm safer with everyone else. I'm not waiting anymore. We end this now and we just take whatever comes and move on." Frank looked at me, smiling as though what I was saying was in someway amusing. "What? What's so funny?" "You," he answered flatly. "You're becoming quite the strategist. Not to mention fearless." "I'm not fearless. Far from it. I would rather just face my fears now, all at once, than suffer through them the way I have the past few weeks. I'm done with the torture." I could tell he wanted to argue the matter further, but he just nodded his head and squeezed my shoulder gently as he went into the house. I stood by the door, watching the van, wondering what Carter had planned for us. I felt what Frank sensed and I agreed. As little as I knew of him, I knew Carter would not just give himself up the way he did unless he thought he could get something from it. It simply eluded us what he could gain from his own capture. Within the next hour everything was loaded up in the field van and we were heading out. Frank road with me in the black sedan as the line of vehicles returned to their original order and the police cruisers took the head and end of the line. We headed off down through the trees that lined the country road. It was the first time I noticed the road. It was poorly paved and crumbling along the sides. It was barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other. The trees overhead were low and bare of their leaves, the scattered pine trees offering the only hint of green along the landscape. The road wound around outcroppings of rock and dipped into steep valleys. Occasionally the bare trees would allow the glimpse of the dying sun hanging low on the horizon, burning steadily against the approaching darkness. There were scattered farmhouses in the valleys below and unmarked gravel roads branched out up into the hills and dropped out of sight along ravines. The snow had fallen steadily for hours now, it's thick blanket of cold, stark ice smothering the ground on both sides of the road. It was just starting to stick to the road as the day's heat had begun to fade and a cold wind blew across its surface. I shivered despite the warmth of the car and pulled my coat around me tighter. The sound of the black nylon rubbing against itself and the cushion of the puffy down was comforting, almost like an extra wall between Carter and myself in the van behind us. Frank sat next to me, but was distant. He was looking out the window, his elbow propped up on the ledge, and with his head tilted back slightly was methodically rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. His brow would occasionally furrow and then relax. I knew he was thinking about Carter and what he had in store for us. I also knew he would never relay his fears to me. Gently, I reached my hand out towards his as it lay on the seat and squeezed it softly. My hands felt so cold against his. He turned, slightly startled, and then smiled softly as he took my hand completely in his and brought it up to his lips. I closed my eyes as he softly pressed his lips against the back of my hand, the warmth resonating through my arm. Then, just as softly, he touched my knuckles to his cheek and then brought our hands back down to the seat and turned back towards the window. Part of me wanted to curl up next to him as I had done before, but I knew that at that moment I could not. So we stayed as we were. Two people staring away from each other, each of us leaning against opposite doors but reaching out to each other, anchored to one another. We drove in silence for another half hour through the hills, the sun just a sliver as it peaked between the skeletons of the trees. The woods closed in quickly and darkened faster than the open valley below. The road began to level off eventually and the curves softened as we slowly descended. We had just turned a corner and could see the road straighten out ahead of us when we heard the thunderous roar of an explosion. I did not see at first what had happened. I looked up ahead of us as the tremor rumbled through the car. I had just caught a glimpse of the ball of fire in front of us before the driver swerved. The field van, with Frank's team inside, had swerved and braked hard to avoid the burning heap of metal ahead of them. The two state trooper patrol cars had been annihilated. They lay atop one another, mangled and twisted, flames quickly building impenetrable walls around them. We knew instantly they men inside were dead. The field van, in it's desperate attempt to miss the chaos in front of it, had spun sideways on the thin ice and flipped over on it's side. For what seemed like hours, the sound of breaking glass and the sparks from the metal frame grinding into the pavement were the only thing I could see or hear. But it took only seconds before they came to a stop. Our car ended up spinning in the opposite direction from the van but came to rest quickly. The van and cars behind us had a little more time to stop and were able to avoid the building mass of vehicles. Frank jumped from the car as soon as it came to a stop, yelling at me over his shoulder not to move. The driver followed him towards the burning cars and overturned van. I sat alone in the car sideways, with one knee on the seat and the foot of the other leg planted firmly on the floorboard. I was bracing myself between the backs of the front and back seats, looking frantically back towards the cars behind us and watching as Frank opened the back of the field van and our driver climbed up to open the other driver's door. They began pulling people out as quickly as they could, each person staring with amazement at the wall of flames in front of them. Despite the appearance of the crash, the team made it out safely, and crouched down alongside the van for cover. The state troopers and the agents guarding Carter remained in their vehicles, I could see them looking up and down the road and surrounding hills trying to find to source of the explosion. Frank, crouched low to the ground, scuttled over as close to the burning cars as possible, I assumed looking for any signs of life but his eyes never left the ground next to the pavement. He brushed aside some snow and then looked off into the woods. He turned suddenly and made his way back to his team. He spoke to them for a few moments and then ran over to me. He slipped into the backseat next to me and motioned for me to get down low, close to the seat. "There's line laid out alongside the road," he whispered as he bent down to my level. "What kind of line? What do you mean?" "Explosives. Essentially the cars hit a landmine. They triggered the explosive when they drove over it." "You mean someone laid a bomb in the middle of the road? Anyone could have driven over it! What the hell are they thinking?" I screamed, sitting up straight again, staring at the fire ahead. "Kate, get down," Frank ordered, pushing my head down again. "I know they could have, but the point is it was meant for us. It means someone is out here waiting for us and probably watching us right now." "Then why aren't they doing anything? Why are we just sitting here?" "We can't turn around on this narrow road. We'd have to back the cars up for about a half-mile before there'd be enough space turn around. Plus, we don't know where they are; they'd probably hit us before we made it too far. We need to secure this position and see what they have planned." "Are you crazy? We're sitting ducks here! At least if we try moving we have a chance. God, Frank, we're in the middle of an ambush and you're telling me we're just going to sit here and take it? Like hell we are! I'm not dying here Frank, not after all that's happened." "Just relax. We're not just going to sit here and let them kill us, Kate. We have to assess the situation before we can act." I could not believe what I was hearing. Frank was trying to ration this whole thing out as though we had all the time in the world. I knew he was trained to handle these things calmly and to think his actions through, but I had resigned myself to death once before and had no plans of doing so again. And then we heard it. At first it was just a light whistling sound but it grew louder as it got closer. Then, from behind us came a massive explosion that was soon followed by another. The reverberation sent a shockwave through the car as shrapnel crashed through the back window. Frank threw himself on top of me, trying to shield me from the debris. As the heat retreated, we sat up to see Jake running towards the car. "They're RPG's! They just took out the other two cruisers!" he yelled as he jumped into the front seat of the car. "They came from up the hill." "Are you sure?" Frank asked sternly, his calm demeanor diminishing quickly.  
  
"Yeah, I followed the smoke trails up into the trees but I can't see who fired them." "Wait!" I yelled at the both of them, completely lost in the exchange. "What's an RPG?" "It's a rocket propelled grenade. They launched them from somewhere in the woods. Just think of it as a mini-missile," Jake explained breathlessly as he scanned the woods to our right. "Then shouldn't we get out of the cars, if that's what they're targeting?" "No," Frank answered flatly, "Not yet. They want us to scatter and try to hide in the woods. That way they can get to Carter easier to release him and come after us individually. We have to wait them out here as long as possible." No sooner had he said the words than the bullets began raining down on the center vehicles. Throwing ourselves down on the floorboard, we were blind as to where the bullets were coming from. All I could hear was the shatter of glass, the thud of the bullets as they impacted the sides of the car, and the miniscule pop of a sonic boom set off by the bullets that zipped past our heads. The barrage of fire went on for several minutes before I realized that part of the noise was coming from our own people, still crouched down by the van, as they returned fire. Again the attack was coming from the right side of the car, from somewhere up on the hill. It finally occurred to me why they were only attacking from the one side. They were trying to draw us out of the cars and force us down the embankment on the other side. Frank had been right. If we had tried to run we would either have ran directly to them or straight into the trap. "They want us to flee down into the ravine," Frank yelled to Jake in the front seat who was helplessly trying to get a shot in. "I noticed!" he yelled back. "We need to get everyone to the other side of the road, but we need to stay together." Jake nodded and Frank gave him cover fire as he slid out of the car and raced back to the rest of the team. Frank grabbed a radio in the front seat and confirmed with the drivers of the armored van what they were going to do. Then, without another word, Frank opened his door, backed out of car slowly, then grabbed the back of the collar on my coat and pulled me out of the car in one solid motion and deposited me against the wheel. I curled up as small as I could as I felt the heat from the bullets as they flew past my ankles. "Kate," Frank yelled to me as he fired his weapon across the seat and through the broken window on the other side, "You have to run to the other side of the road and get down behind a tree. Don't go too far down the bank, just a few feet, and wait for the rest of us to regroup." I stared across the road at a large tree that was just over the drop-off from the pavement. It was only a couple meters but it looked like a mile. I looked up at Frank who was intensely committed to the firefight. I wanted to argue the idea but knew it would do no good. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, exhaled, and then ran a straight line to the tree I had set my sights on earlier. I could hear the bullets hitting the pavement at my feet and pushed myself forward just a little faster. I crashed into the snow and leaves at the base of the tree and slid down onto my back. I lay there for a few minutes before I could summon the courage to look back at the road. From my vantage point, all I could see were the tops of the remaining vehicles and the orange glow of the fires now burning from each side. Slowly, I stood up behind the tree, keeping my body pressed against it as tightly as I could. I peered out onto the scene before me. It looked so surreal. Against the advancing darkness of the night the trees had blackened. They looked like solid shadows arranged along the hillside. The fires lit up the road like theatre lights causing the shadows to dance. The snow was still falling and the white backdrop only added to the drama. For a brief moment I felt completely detached from the action, like I was watching a movie. It had become a familiar feeling. I could no longer hear the bullets as they flew by me and hit the surrounding trees. I did not jump anymore when something inside the burning vehicles would cause a secondary explosion. I just watched calmly as the heavy metal bodies buckled and heaved under the attack of the flames. I could see a few people in shadowy profile alone, crouched down alongside cars. I never saw anyone follow me to the trees. Suddenly, I felt someone grab the back of my jacket and then I was pulled down to the ground. I turned to face my assailant, prepared to fight, only to find Jake squatting down behind me. "You better stay down," he said firmly, a slight scowl across his forehead as he peered out from behind the tree. "We're waiting for Frank and Alex." I looked to my left and not five yards away was Monica and Cody, watching the road with their guns drawn. They had dove for cover apparently, about the same time I did and I never noticed them I was so caught up in my own safety. I looked towards the armored van. All the doors were open but no one was around. I looked to my right expecting to see the guards with Carter and his men. But there was nothing but trees and snow. "Jake," I said turning around, "where's Carter?" "What do you mean?" he asked, poking his head out the other side of the tree, practically lying across me to do so. "Carter and his men? The guards? Where are they?" "They must have dove for cover somewhere," he said, unsure of his answer and still scanning the scene for signs of them. "Two guards and how many men?" I asked, but he did not respond at first. "Jake! How many men?" "Six counting Carter. We took five of his men into custody." "Six people against two? They couldn't possibly cover six men in this chaos!" "Well, we weren't exactly expecting this, now were we?" he shot back, irritated at my questions and his uncertainty. "We have to get Frank over here. He has to know they're missing." "We don't know they're missing. They could be anywhere." "Yeah, I know, that's the problem. They could be anywhere. And those guards could be dead by now. This was all a set up from the beginning Jake, don't you see that? Carter gave himself up because he knew he could get us into this position to finish what he started. This is why Frank was nervous about taking Carter into custody. He knew something wasn't right." "Well, that could all be true. But right now we have to focus on those shooters and getting the rest of our people over here." I turned back towards the road. I could see Frank and Alex crouched down next to the exposed undercarriage of the van, taking shots as they could get them. After a few moments they made a mad dash for the trees and crash landed between those of us watching. Frank looked around frantically, trying to get a sense of who had made it to cover and who had not. "Where's Carter?" he yelled to Jake. "I don't know. We lost track of the Carter's men and our agents when the shooting began. They could still be in the van." "I doubt that. The doors are open. Our people would have gone for cover...if they got out." "What if they didn't?" I asked, pushing into the conversation. "What if they're dead and Carter is on the loose? If he planned this then we're right where he wants us. We could be dead already." "We haven't lost yet. We just have to figure out what he's planning. He obviously wants us to split up. That would be his best bet if he were planning to capture or kill us. So we need to stay together as best we can. We stay in a group and move down the ravine a bit more. Then we start moving in the same direction the cars were. With any luck we'll make it to better cover. Has anyone tried to call for back up?" "Yeah, a couple of times," Cody answered from behind Frank. "Signal's being jammed. I'm guessing Carter's behind that as well, he seems to have that evil-maniacal-cellular-phone-jamming type of persona." I smiled in spite of the situation and could tell from the look in Frank's eyes that he too was amused but trying to ignore Cody's attempt at humor. He gave Cody a stern glance before he continued talking. "Alright, we move together down the ravine a few more yards. Then we start moving in the same direction as the road," Frank announced to the group. I could tell that Jake did not like the plan. Something about it troubled him but he said nothing as we all began to move down the ravine. We were walking in a line, Alex at the head and Jake covering us from behind. I walked, slightly crouched down, between Frank and Jake. There was little light to see by and as we moved further away from the fires there was even less. The slope was steep and the leaves and snow made progress slow and troubled. I slipped several times, each time leaning down into the side of the slope to steady myself. I dug my bare hands into the icy dirt so many times that I could no longer feel my fingers. But I ignored the pain and cold, too worried as to who may be following us in the darkness. We marched in silence for about fifteen minutes, when we came upon a gravel road that descended from the main road down into the dark ravine below. Frank stopped the team at the edge of the road. It was not very wide but it was wide enough to make it dangerous to cross. It was decided we would cross one at a time as Jake continued to monitor the woods behind us. Alex, Cody, and Monica made a swift procession across the road, and arrived on the other side safely. Frank put his hand on my back and signaled that it was my turn now that there was adequate cover on the other side. I nodded in response and positioned myself on the edge of the road, ready to dart to the other side, when I saw the shadow in the middle of the road. The bright lights of a large vehicle were shining down the gravel road. There was someone standing in front of the truck, staring down into the ravine. I froze in my crouched position staring up into the lights. For a brief moment the image of the proverbial deer in the middle of the road flashed through my mind. I tried to slink back towards cover, but it was too late. I heard someone yelling inaudibly and saw the scurrying shadows of feet around the vehicle. Suddenly from behind us, two large searchlights lit up the woods, flooding the trees with light and illuminating our exact location. Frank yelled to team members on the opposite side of the road to run for cover. As they began to make their retreat, gunfire once again exploded through the air. The team did not return fire but continued through the maze of trees until they reached darkness once again. In the meantime, Frank, Jake, and myself had flattened ourselves against the ground trying desperately to shield ourselves from the hail of bullets that was condensing on our location. After a couple minutes the guns were stopped. There was silence for a moment as we waited for the firing to begin again. There were more inaudible commands being barked from the top of the road and the sounds of running on the gravel. We knew they could easily see us and I assumed the feet were heading our way. I turned my head enough to see the surface of the road. It was empty and the scuffling sounds were slowly fading. I turned back toward Frank and Jake. They were signaling to one another using hand gestures I did not understand. After a brief pause to look back at the lights behind us, Frank looked back to me. "We're going to back track along the ravine and then head towards the bottom. Then we'll try to make our way out of here," he whispered. "Are you nuts?" I whispered back, almost shrill in my tone. There was no way I was heading back towards where we had come from. We had hardly made it out alive the first time. Now we had and unknown number of people behind us at the controls of floodlights. They had guns and could see us perfectly while all we could make out of them was an occasional shadow. "Kate, it's our only chance. I don't think there are more than four men behind us. We would have spotted a large group tracking us before. If we cross the road they'll mow us down," "What do you think they'll do if we walk straight toward them? Throw us a party?" "They won't shoot at us." "And how do you know that?" I asked worried at what he might say in response. "Because we won't be trying to escape," he answered plainly, as though from that little piece of information I should understand completely what he meant. "Then what are we going to do?" "We're going to give ourselves up." I stared at him in disbelief. I felt my shock would have been obvious, even in the pitch black of night. But I was certain he could read me perfectly in the scattered rays of light that were beating through the trees like a battering ram. "Are you out of your bloody mind?" I asked slowly, deliberately, meaning every word seriously. "No, I'm not. Listen, if we surrender, and walk towards the men behind us to do so, then Carter will tell them not to shoot. He wants to do the job and I'm guessing he's up by the truck. So he'll tell them to apprehend us and bring us to him." "And that's a good thing?" "Yes. Because if there are as few men back there as I think there are, then we stand a good chance of taking them out and getting past Carter. If we don't surrender, then we won't get anywhere close." "What about the rest of the team? Won't they come back?" "Probably. But we can't wait for them and they wouldn't be able to take down all of these men on their own. This is the only chance we've got right now." I sighed after hearing his last statement. I was tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of being in a constant state of terror. I just wanted it all to be over and part of me thought that if Carter did capture us, then maybe he'd finish it quickly and I would not have to suffer through anymore of his games. But when I looked back at Frank I knew he would not let me give up because he would never give up. I thought his strength and assurances would be enough to get me through all of it, but I was beginning to see that I could not leech courage from him. My survival was dependent on my abilities alone and I would have to find the strength to live. I nodded to Frank, my silent signal that I was willing to try his plan, but secretly I was praying that Carter would not open fire as soon as he saw us move to stand. Slowly, Frank brought himself to his knees and raised his hands in the air. Jake soon followed and then, after a moment of hesitation, so did I. The lights felt like a thousand eyes looking right through us and we finally stood. We moved so slowly, so deliberately, that it barely felt like movement. We turned together, facing the lights behind us, ignoring the vehicle and men in the road. We then began to walk toward the blinding lights and the faceless men behind them. Frank stood between Jake and myself. I was a couple steps behind them watching their every move, unsure how far we were really going. I suddenly felt dwarfed by Frank's demanding stature and the shower of light before us. We could hear the muffled sounds of radios and walkie-talkies as we approached but no one said a word to us until we finally stopped, standing just in front of the lights. Three men moved forward and walked around behind us. They were each carrying rifles and jammed the barrels into our backs, silently ordering us behind the lights. As we stepped around the lights we finally got a good look at our captors. There were four men total, just like Frank had suspected, each toting a rifle, handgun, and large Bowie knife. They were dressed in black cargo pants and black military sweaters. They looked exactly like the men from the college. But this time they were not wearing masks but tight black skullcaps and their faces were smudged with dark camouflage grease. Suddenly I felt the sweep of a thousand images of that day take over my mind. I closed my eyes, trying to collection my wits about me. I could not allow myself to panic and give in to my fear. If this plan was going to work I would have to be part of it completely. That undoubtedly meant I would have to fight these men just as Frank and Jake would. We were marched over to a tree and told to drop our weapons on the ground. Frank and Jake did as they were told, but deliberately dropped them as closely to their feet as possible. It became obvious that the men holding the guns were barely men at all. They were once again young and just out of their teens. Just like that boy had been in the boiler room. The first one I had killed.  
  
I was beginning to see how Carter was able to get so many soldiers under his command. They were most likely wayward boys with little going for them in life, probably all in and out of juvenile detention, maybe worse. Then Carter comes along with his money and tales of glory and promises of a better life. He takes them under his wing and they become his unwitting slaves. My fear began to turn into pity as I watched the men in front of us trying to figure out what to do. They were obviously receiving directions over their radios and two had removed themselves to talk over how they would get us over to Carter. The two remaining kept their sights on us intently but it was apparent that they were scared. Nervous sweat dropped off their foreheads and rolled into their eyes. They blinked periodically trying to keep down the sting of the salty sweat as it burned in their eyes. They fidgeted quite a bit as well. Shifting their weight from one foot to another, stealing concerned glances at one another. Frank sighed heavily as he watched them. I knew exactly what he was thinking. They were the threat and they had to be removed. But they were just kids at the same time. Just as Johnny had been that day I killed him. The image of the pretty girl in the photograph he carried floated before me as I looked into the eyes of the gunman directly in front of me. The other two men had now begun arguing with one another. One was concerned that we were not bound. The other was reminding him that they had nothing to use as restraints, they were not expecting us to surrender. But the first was unwilling to try to walk us the relatively short distance to Carter's vehicle still sitting in the middle of the road, without restraints of some kind. This confusing continued for several minutes. I began to wonder why Carter had not come to retrieve us himself and why Frank had not yet made an attempt to escape yet. But both of those questions would soon be answered. One of the two men arguing suddenly fell silent and motioned to the other to do the same. He put his hand to his side of his head, apparently trying to hear what was being said over his radio through the tiny earphone. He mumbled something back and turned towards the rest of us. "Carter's coming down," he announced uncertainly. "I don't think he's too happy. Apparently we should've shot them where they stood." One of the men holding the guns turned around to face the messenger. "Well, then why don't we just go ahead and do it now then," he suggested arrogantly, trying to keep up his tough-as-nails persona. But before he could turn back around Frank and Jake jumped into action. I was as startled as our captors as Frank lunged at the man in front of Jake and me the other. They were so surprised by the attack that they did little to counter it. They took them down quickly, disarming them each in one easy motion. The whole event felt like slow motion as I watched in shocked silence. I looked up as I remembered the other two men. In their own brand of shock they were unable to bring up their weapons smoothly. The one closest to me dropped his rifle and as he bent to retrieve it, Jake took aim at his partner and sent him flailing with one shot to the chest. The other man, finally able to pick his weapon up, turned towards me trying to bring his rifle up level enough to fire at me. I dropped to the ground, feeling in the darkness for the gun Frank had dropped. I found not more than a couple of feet from me and brought it up to aim as steadily as I could. Down on my knees, I sat back on my feet and leveled the handgun at the man in front of me. At the same time he gripped his rifle, at last ready to fire. Without a second thought, I squeezed the trigger and sent four bullets toward him. His got off one shot before two of bullets hit him square in the chest and the other two in his left leg. But this one shot was wasted as it flew past my head and into the tree behind me. I felt a sharp sting and then a burning pain on my right cheek and knew instantly that his shot was not that far off. It had grazed the side of my head, skipping off my cheekbone. Another inch and it would have entered my skull.  
  
I watched as the man fell backwards onto the ground, an expression of surprise and pain frozen in his darkening eyes. I brought the gun down to rest at my knees as I watched him fall. Slowly I looked at the ground before us. There lay four young men that had no business being in this situation and should have had decades of life before them. But now they were dead and they had Carter to thank for it. It was that thought that brought me back to the present reality. Carter was coming down the hillside already and the sound of gunfire would only motivate him and his men more. Frank and Jake were desperately grabbing up the dead men's guns and ammunition. Frank grabbed one of the handguns and an extra clip of ammo and tossed it to me. I dropped the first gun like it was a toy and tucked the clip in my jeans pocket. Frank and Jake were silent as they turned away from the bodies and ran towards me. Frank grabbed my arm and brought me to my feet as he simultaneously pushed me in front of him and down the ravine. "Stay in front of us," he yelled, "Move down to the bottom of the ravine as fast as you can. Don't look back." I did exactly as he said and started running as best I could down the steep embankment. Grabbing the trees to keep myself from sliding down the hill uncontrollably, I skidded to a halt at the bottom landing in a small stream. Frank and Jake were not far behind me and soon came splashing into position next to me. "What now?" Jake asked breathlessly as he watched the hillside. We could hear the men coming after us but could not see them. The lights were still visible at the top of the ravine but they were quickly extinguished. "Carter will move his vehicles down the ravine so they can use the searchlights. Our best chance is to try to climb up the other side of the ravine. With any luck there will be better cover." "Wait. There's no certainty there's anything on the other side of that hill but more woods. What if we back tracked along the stream towards the cars? Maybe we can get one out and drive out of here." "No, Kate we can't do that. Carter will have left men there to make sure we didn't get to the cars." "What about the gravel road? If it comes down the ravine than it has to pass this stream so there must be a bridge of some kind. We could cross there and try to meet up with the others." "No Kate!," Frank yelled impatiently. "We can't get to any bridge before Carter can drive there. We have to get over this hill." I shook my head in defeat, resting my hands on my hips as a struggled to catch my breath in the cold night air. Frank took the lead up the steep hillside and I quickly followed. Once again Jake took up the rear, trying desperately to see Carter and his men somewhere in the woods behind us. It was a struggle to climb up the ravine side. The leaves were loose and slippery and the recent rains had left nothing but mud underneath. Now the snow was coming down a little heavier but the trees were still shielding us from most of it. We were half way up the ravine when the first sounds of gunfire began to echo along the walls. The three of us dropped to our knees, losing ground on the unstable substrate with such sudden movements. Jake slid for several feet before regaining his footing. He was left wide open, lying on the ground, searching for his weapon. Carter's men spotted him before he could find the gun and opened fire. Jake dove for cover behind a patch of bare thorny bushes just in time. Frank grabbed the back of my coat and pulled me up next to him. "Keep moving. Don't stop. I have to help Jake," he directed me as he took for a tree near Jake's position for cover. I paused for a moment, wanting to stay them, knowing I would only be a burden. So I turned and started to make my way up the ravine the rest of the way. I could hear the sound of Frank and Jake returning fire behind me but I never looked back. I made it to the top of the ravine, exhausted and breathless, clutching at the cramp in my right side. I noticed that I had torn my coat in several places and the white down filling was slowly working it's was out. I grabbed at the zipper and quickly removed the coat, tossing it down the ravine. My only thought was that the feathers could be used to track me. I know now that white down on white snow in the middle of the night would be pretty close to impossible to track, but I was not thinking straight and knew I had to keep my tracks as hidden as possible. I finally stood, my back against a tree, facing away from the ravine. It was then that I got my first good look around. I was standing on the edge of the gravel road that had made its way up the opposing side of the ravine. I looked up and down the road but there were no visible signs of Carter or his men and their vehicles. Across the road, there was a small field about a half-mile wide. It sloped gently down into the valley and as I looked to my right I noticed that I could see straight down between the hills. The snow had indeed begun to build in intensity. The flakes were large and wet but they were starting to make visibility poor. I stared intently at the other side of the field and could just make out the shape of a building. There was a faint light in one of the windows and smoke rolling out of the chimney. It had to be a farmhouse. I could only hope that meant some kind of safety and more importantly - a phone. I couldn't cross the field directly; there was a fence along the roadside. Six foot posts with five lines of barbed wire strung between them. And to my utter dismay an orange sign bright enough to read in the weak moonlight.  
"DANGER! Cattle Fence. High Voltage." An electric fence. Of course. Carter himself could not have planned this any better. I almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. It seemed the Fates had plotted against me at every corner. Every time I found an out, another wall was thrown up. Now, there was six-foot electric fence that I did not stand a chance a scaling. I looked down the gravel road to my left. It had to lead in the direction of the farmhouse. I could see it curve to the right about twenty yards ahead and disappear into more trees. It was my only chance. The gravel would help hide my tracks since the snow was still disappearing in the spaces between the large rocks and I would stand less of a chance of getting lost and walking straight back to Carter. Unfortunately this also meant I would be out in the open most of the time, or at least close enough to the road that should they drive through, they would see me before I would see them. I could not hear any cars on the gravel, which was a relief. I could still hear gunfire in the ravine and knew that I could not wait to see if they made is safely to the top. My only shot was to get to the farmhouse and call the police, to get some kind of backup to Frank and the rest of the team. So, I took a few uncertain steps down the road, and then, still unable to hear approaching vehicles, took off in a dead run along the edge of the road. I ran flat out for about fifty yards, following the road as it curved through the woods. I turned my head to look back several times, but there were no lights and no signs of anyone behind me. As I came around one corner I was shocked to see nothing ahead of me but black. I stopped running and stared before me, trying to let my eyes adjust to the light. Through my erratic breathing and blurred vision I saw what eventually revealed itself to be a covered bridge. It was perched precariously over a severe ravine whose stream had obviously dried up years ago. I assumed from the position where I thought the ravine was located that I must be at the head of the valley, which meant I was at least half way across. At least I hoped I was. The serpentine fashion of the road had caused me to lose any sense of direction. I took one last look behind me as I started my approach towards the bridge. I followed the road as it edged its way along the ravine and turned sharply into the mouth of the bridge. A new terror filled me as I stood at the side of the bridge, still out of sight from anyone who may be inside. I pulled the sleeves of my black knit top over my hands, a nervous habit I had had since childhood. I was suddenly all too aware of how thin it was and how low the neckline was. I could feel the cold air hitting my chest and penetrating it with a vengeance as I struggled to breath. I brought clenched fists together and raised them to my chin. I tried to breath into my hands, hoping the dark material covering them would help shield my lungs from the icy cold air. But my breaths were just as cold and painful. I clenched my hands together under my chin, resting my head on them, looking down at the ground. Every part of me told me that crossing that bridge would be a death sentence. It terrified more than the gunfire behind me. I reached slowly toward the waistband of my pants pulling the cold steel of the gun away from my skin and gripping it firmly in my hand. I was staring down at it when I noticed that I could no longer hear the gunshots from the ravine. I listened hard but all I could hear was the deathly silence of the dark woods. I resigned myself to crossing the bridge. It was the only way to get help. In my heart I knew that the reason there were no more shots being fired was because Frank and Jake had been killed. I tried not to think about it, but a brief moment of tears came anyway. I quickly wiped them away with my shirtsleeve and took several deep breaths. I cleared my mind of any thoughts other than making it across the bridge. I leaned my head back against the worn wood and steadied the gun in the center of my body, my arms stretched out and the gun pointing towards the ground. I peeked around the corner into the bridge briefly. All I could make out was the first few feet from the entrance. I noticed that the roof had caved in long ago and the moonlight and snow were leaking in. The floor of the bridge looked sturdy, as much of it as I could see. I leaned in again, this time chancing a glance down the entire length. Much of the roof had fallen away on the left side and I could see the end clearly. No one was visible inside and no one appeared to be waiting on the opposite side. I took a few slow steps onto the bridge, my eyes darting from side to side, trying to peer into the shadows. I was a few yards in when I decided it was safe to cross and I was definitely alone. I picked up pace, running a little sideways, trying to keep an eye behind and before me. I still had a death grip on my gun, keeping my arms extended and down, just like I had always seen it done in the movies and on television. It is amazing what you can learn by watching endless reruns of COPS and more than one too many war movies. My legs were beginning to give up the fight and I was having trouble keeping up my pace. I was tripping in the darkness with every other step, the toe of my Nike's catching on the warped floorboards of the bridge. I was more the half way across when I heard it. A car. It was still a good distance away and definitely behind me, or so I thought. I slowed down to walked backwards as I turned around to watch the direction I had come from, my gun raised and leveled at the opening of the bridge. The sound of the vehicle got louder as it approached and I soon realized that the echoes of the bridge were playing tricks on my hearing. It was not long before it was obvious that the vehicle I heard was coming from the opposite direction. I turned around to face it just as it appeared at the end of the bridge behind me. The bright headlights surprised me but I held my weapon straight out in front of me and stood my ground. I honestly thought it was someone from the farm. I had no idea that while I was making my ascent up the ravine that Carter had driven past me at the top, unaware I had not yet made it up the side of the slope. But as I watched the figure behind the wheel of the large black SUV step out of the vehicle and walk up to the front of the car, just behind the lights, I knew that was exactly what had happened. It was Carter. He was standing there with his hands in the pockets of his beige pants, the bottom corners of his khaki jacket pulled to the sides, exposing the white turtle neck underneath. He looked like he had just stepped out of GAP catalog and he had a smug smile on his face as he stared at me. He looked me up and down. My mud caked jeans, my water soaked running shoes, and my tattered top must have been a pleasing sight to him. I was trembling fiercely, trying to keep the gun aimed at him. I had every opportunity to shoot him. I wanted to shoot him. But I was not yet a murderous monster as he was and my conscience would not let me shoot him in cold blood, no matter what he had done to me. I could not kill a man that was just standing there looking at me in cold silence. "Well, Miss Connor," he began suddenly. I jumped a little at the sound of his voice. "We meet again. I must say you look about the same as I left you in that boiler room. But I guess we know that looks aren't everything, don't we?" I said nothing in reply. I only grip the handle of the gun harder. He took a couple steps back and reached into the cabin of the truck, turning off the lights. I blinked a few times trying to adjust to the sudden change in light. I found him back in the same spot leaning against the side of the truck. "That's better," he said, pleased with himself for something unknown to me. "No need for those blaring things is there? Plenty of light in here. Don't you think?" I stood silent, trying to ignore his comments, knowing he would only try to use his words against me. "What's the matter Miss Connor? Why don't you just shoot me? I'm unarmed and alone. Then you could move on, take the truck, and make for that farmhouse and call for help." He paused momentarily, tilting his head inquisitively. "Of course, that really won't do any good. I've already been to that house. They said they hadn't seen anyone. They swore they weren't hiding you in there. But I didn't believe them. The house should be fully lit by now and burning well. Those poor children. I guess I should have believed them. Obviously, they weren't lying to me were they?" He narrowed his stare, the smug smile returning as he tilted his head down a little. I knew what he wanted to achieve by telling me that story. True or not, I had to ignore it. There was nothing I could do if he was telling the truth and no reason to react if he was lying. All I could do was put the farmhouse out of my mind and hold my ground. He took a few steps out and was between me and the truck. I wanted with all my heart to just unload the gun into his body and then reload and have at him again. But that would have made me just as bad as him. I tried to quell the storm of anger that was rising within me. "Tell me Miss Connor, did you happen to make it to your friend's funeral? You know that pretty little thing from the college. Oh, now what was her name? Oh yes, Vanessa...Vanessa Parkins. Sweet girl. Another bad judgment call on my part. A real shame. But, did you? Manage to make it to her funeral?" he tried to look as though he was seriously having a conversation. But I could see the look in his eyes. He was enjoying the affect the mention of Vanessa's name was having on me. I gripped the gun as hard as ever, breathing heavily, trying to hold back the tears. "Oh that's right," he began again, "You didn't make it, did you? You were locked down in that hospital weren't you? Oh well, let me tell you about it. "It was lovely. Tons of flowers. Lots of people. Her boyfriend was there. Peter was his name? Yes, he was terribly distraught, threw himself on top of the coffin just before they lowered it in the ground. Very dramatic," he laughed as he said it and I wanted to kill him even more. "So it's just a game to you then, isn't it?" I forced the question out between clenched teeth. "No my dear, that's where you're wrong. It's never been a game. Revenge is never a game. It's very serious." "Revenge for what? I didn't do anything to you and neither did Vanessa." "Oh no, most certainly you didn't do anything to me. It was Donovan, your precious Donovan. He was the only one that I ever wanted to destroy. He took my beautiful Mercedes away from me. He killed her, so I kill him. It's very simple...in theory. But you know, life is complicated and things never go quite as planned. Trigger-happy kids, uncooperative hostages, and obstructive little girls like you. They all factor in but you can't plan ahead for them really. Now it's all very personal. My agenda to kill Donovan and yourself. Donovan's agenda to protect you and kill me. And now your agenda to save yourself and kill me. You see? I'm the one at odds here, not you." He shrugged his shoulders as though it were all so simple and common. I hated him for his complacency and he knew it. He wanted me to hate him. That hate would blind me and he could control me. But I did everything in my power to prevent that. "You and Donovan have an interesting little thing going there, don't you?" he continued. His knowing about Donovan and myself did not surprise me. After the night in the safe house I had learned that no place was completely safe and had taught myself to expect everyone to know my business. I may have been in hiding but my activities and background had to be known by everyone that had contact with me. So Carter's admission of knowledge of Frank and I was nothing that could have shocked me. "Maybe, " I answered, as coolly as I could. "Doesn't really matter anymore, does it? None of it matters. Not me, not Donovan, not even you. It's not about revenge, it's about your bloodlust, and you'll take it wherever you can get it. You'll take it out on me, Donovan, his team, even a defenseless family living quietly in a farmhouse." It was my turn to push the emotional envelope with him. "You never gave a damn about Mercedes. She was just a pawn in your little game. Keep up the family values charade. I'm sure the day she died you must have been so relieved." "You don't know anything about Mercedes. You can't imagine what she meant to me. I forbid you to speak her name!" He was getting more and more excited with anger. "Yeah, she meant a lot. So much that you lead her into that warehouse and to her death. Oh, not physically, but you brought her there. You knew there could be trouble and you let her come with you anyway. You're so angry with everyone for her death, but really, you're the only one to blame. It's you fault she's dead." I could see the expression on his face change dramatically in the pale blue light that crept in through the roof of the bridge. He was angry, irate even, but then something changed. He did not take the bait. "Well, young lady, I must admit that your little speech almost worked. I appreciate the armchair psychiatrist routine, but it won't work. Don't think I haven't blamed myself for Mercedes' passing. On the contrary, I have blamed myself. I do blame myself. In many ways. But the fact remains that your Mr. Donovan is the one who killed her. Not me. He planted that agent in my team. He created the monster, now he has answer for its actions." I was not surprised my mental tactics failed but I was disappointed to say the least. I was out of ideas and the only option left was the gun I still held in my outstretched hands. Our eyes were trained on one another, uncertain what the other would do. Then we heard the sound of another vehicle making it's way toward the bridge. My heart sank. It was over. I had hesitated too long and now Carter would win. Frank was dead and soon, I would be too. I heard the car approach the end of the bridge behind me. I saw the headlights illuminate Carter and his truck and I could see the smug grin of victory on his face. But I still kept that gun trained on him. They would have had to kill me first before I would drop that weapon. Perhaps I hoped they would. If I gave up voluntarily I would undoubtedly be subjected to all the same tortures I had been exposed to in the boiler room. Only this time, the torture would be for fun. I heard the door of the car behind me open and close and could just faintly make out the sounds of footsteps on the bridge floor. I did not look back to see who or what was behind me. But as I watched Carter steadily, I noticed his expression change again. It went from the arrogant to confused to utter and complete surprise. I was confused myself as I watched him but I could not turn around. I did not want to risk the chance that he might have been playing a trick on me, so as to let my guard down. "Carter," I heard a voice cry out from behind me. I knew the voice instantly but was too afraid to turn around. "Carter, it's over. You've lost," Frank announced as he took a few more steps toward us. "Just give it up. It's not worth any more lives." "That's where you're wrong Donovan. I can't give up and it is very much worth as many lives as it takes to get back at you for what you've done," Carter said, greatly flustered from Frank's appearance. He seemed to forget all about me as he locked his stare on Frank. "Come on Philip. What can you accomplish now? Your men are all either dead or in custody and you're standing here with two guns aimed at you. What's left?" Frank asked as he edged his way toward us. His steps were slow and deliberate, but for the wrong reason. Carter began to respond, but he was cut short as the sound of splitting wood echoed through the bridge. I turned quickly to see Frank's foot sink into the hole that had just opened up beneath it. His ankle caught instantly and he was momentarily thrown off balance. Down on one knee he tried to free his foot with one hand while trying to keep his gun trained on Carter. But I had given Carter the opportunity he was looking for. In my moment of concern for Frank, I had brought my weapon down and turned my back on Carter. Before I could react, he had grabbed me from behind and twisted the gun out of my hand. He wrapped one arm around my neck and jammed the barrel of the gun against my left temple with the other. Instinctively I threw my hands up, grabbing the arm around my neck, trying to pry it off. "Well, now look who's holding all the cards, Donovan," Carter cried out. "Forgive the obvious joke, but seems to be I have your Queen of Hearts now don't I?" He laughed, amusing himself only. "So?" Frank said, still watching Carter but trying frantically to free his foot. "You kill her. I kill you. I still win. Those are the cards Carter. Like I said, it's over." "Ah, come on now Frank," Carter teased, "I know you better than that. You're a top-notch hostage negotiator. You don't lose people you're sworn to protect. Goes against everything you stand for. You'd die for her if she were a stranger. I can only imagine what you'd try now, 'cause we both know she ain't no stranger." Frank looked at me, desperate for some idea as to how to save me. But I looked down. I did not want him to risk his life to save me and I did not want him to see the terror in my eyes. My arms were free, as were my feet. I made the silent decision to try and fight my way free of Carter's grasp. With my left hand I hit Carter's left forearm, sending it and the gun straight up into the air and away form my head. As he tried to counter this action, I dropped with all my weight down to the floor of the bridge. The surprise of this caused Carter to lose his balance and stumble back, releasing my neck in the interim. I pivoted as I stood back up, now facing Carter, and grabbed his hand as he brought the gun back down. He managed to push the gun down between us, both of us struggling with both hands for control over the weapon. We were locked in the battle, staring into each other's eyes intently, when the weapon fired. The explosion between us surprised us both and the sound carried across the bridge and down into the valley, the echoes chaotic and charged. I heard Frank scream my name, but I could not respond. We stood, the struggle leaving us both, staring at one another. One of us frozen with shock, the other frozen with pain. The gun dropped to the floor but I could not hear it. I only felt its release from our collective grip. I felt colder than I had ever felt as the life slipped away and darkness fell. With one last breath and one last step backwards, Philip Carter fell to the ground for the last time. Soon after, I fell too. But not from a wound, from sheer shock, fear, and surprising relief.  
********** "That was the last time I would see Philip Carter in the flesh," my mother announced unceremoniously. "I found out later that the team had regrouped and managed to call for assistance. They had taken out Carter's men and then set out to look for me. I went back home, a new home mind you, and after a while of tending to my own demons, set to the task of caring of your grandmother. I saw Frank as frequently as possible, especially after you were born." "How long after you escaped Carter was I conceived?" I asked, trying to be mischievous. Instead I was the one who was once again surprised. "Nine months," she answered, a little smile escaping her serene expression. "You were conceived in the safe house compound just days before Carter was captured." "Why didn't you and Frank get married?" I asked, that feeling of a stolen childhood creeping back on me. "Who said we didn't? We were married two months after you were born by a justice of the peace in a private ceremony. Only your grandmother and Jake were there to witness. There isn't any paperwork. It was never legal in the literal sense. It never could have been." "So he pretended to be a friend of the family and grandma played along as well?" "Yes. She knew we loved each other very much but it was impossible for us to be together in any traditional sense. So I continued my research from here and Frank moved the team to D.C. so he could be closer in case we needed him. There were many times I needed him and he needed me. I wish I could make you understand how dangerous you're childhood really was. I'm sure if you think back there are things you don't understand. Things you've chalked up to misinterpreted memories of a child." "What do you mean? What kind of things? What happened?" I asked, my interest newly relit. "Oh, Michael, not tonight. There are so many ways for you to find the answers to those questions and I don't have the energy to tell you anymore. I need to rest now." I could see from the look in her eyes that she was telling me the truth. She was exhausted and I helped her into bed. I gently folded her robe in half and laid it across the back of her chair as pulled the covers up over her chest. I kissed her softly on the forehead and told her how much I loved her, how sorry I was about my behavior, and that I understood everything now and could never really be angry with her. She smiled peacefully and went to sleep. I watched he quietly for a few minutes and then silently turned off the lights and shut the bedroom door behind me as I walked out of her room.  
********** My mother died on October 18, 2045. We found her in the morning and an ambulance was called to the house. She was pronounced and taken away from the house she had loved so dearly. Two days later her funeral was held. In her will she specified where she was to be buried. I was surprised when I went to check the site that it was located in a small cemetery on the hill only a few miles from the house. Most of the stones were over a hundred years old, I noticed as I walked though the row. The caretaker had directed me to the back of the rows and as I reached the spot I was surprised yet once more. The site my mother had indicated was actually a conjoined site. The pain I felt as I read the stone was double that which I had felt the morning she died. The simple light gray granite stone was engraved at the top with the mathematical symbol for infinity, the horizontal figure eight. I took the meaning in this place to mean eternity, forever. The words on the stone both saddened and encouraged me. It read:  
Here Lies  
FRANK DONOVAN  
1967-2021  
Beloved Husband  
Devoted Father  
  
KATHERINE DONOVAN  
1978-2045  
Beloved Wife  
Devoted Mother  
  
I would later have the following added to the base: Courage is not measured by how many times one may conquer pain, but by how  
many times one may prevent it.  
  
The funeral services at the gravesite were held at sunset so that my mother could share on lat sunset with those closest to her. Clarissa was there. She had been amazing through everything, especially in the consolation of my wife, who had lost a mother for the second time. As the daylight faded, we turned to leave my parents to the peace and rest that they deserved. I smiled inside knowing they were now together and no one could change that. As we made our way back to the car, I noticed Clarissa talking to two men and a woman standing at the back of the line of cars. I escorted Melissa to the car and excused myself to join this mysterious group. As I approached they all turned towards me and watched in silence. "Michael," Clarissa began when I reached them, "I'd like to introduce you to some people. This is Cody, Alex, and Jake. I believe you've read about them." I stared at the trio in mild shock. They were all in their late sixties and it took me a moment to imagine the team young and doing the work my mother had described. "Your mother was an amazing woman. I'm sorry to see her go," Jake said, bravely freaking the awkward silence. "Thank you," I said after the other had repeated their sincerest sympathies. "I miss working with them," Cody said softly, staring at the grave contemplatively. "Working with who?" I asked. "Your parents," he answered, obviously surprised by my question. "We worked with them when you were very young." "Oh, the Carter case. No that was before I was born," I said, thinking he had confused my age. "Yes, yes. Then too. But after you were born as well. Your mother was quite the little spitfire," he said, smiling to himself. "Certainly kept Frank on his toes and worried sick half the time." "Mr. Connor," Alex began, shooting a warning glance in Cody's direction," your parents, both of them, worked together for many years while you were young. I would have thought they would have told you by now." I stared at Clarissa in mild shock, hoping she would offer more information. But she only stared back in silence, her jaw locked stoically.  
  
"Well, Mr. Connor," Cody said, a meager smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, "It appears you parents were better at keeping secrets than we gave them credit for. I think it's time we got to know each other, " he said, putting his arm around my shoulder as we walked toward the cars. "Have I got a story to tell you..." 


End file.
